


The Wingman

by noodleinabarrel



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Armchair Therapy, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Friendship, M/M, Makeover, Matchmaking, Oblivious James T. Kirk, Oblivious Spock, Pining, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodleinabarrel/pseuds/noodleinabarrel
Summary: Beyond the color of their uniforms, Spock and McCoy have one thing in common: they’re both in love with the other’s best friend. Spock has “fallen in love” with Jim and doesn’t know how to get back up. Asking the captain’s confidant for romantic advice seems like the only logical solution, but becoming used to McCoy’s shocking methods will take some fortitude. Leonard, on the other hand, finds himself playing wingman to a Vulcan—a roll he gets more and more caught up in as Spock’s will-he-won’t-he romance sends the doctor into a nail-biting fury.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story combines my great love for Leonard McCoy--in all his surly bigheartedness--and my one true pairing (Kirk/Spock). I hope it does justice to them both.
> 
> Written for [T'hy'la Bang 2017](http://thylabang.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Amazing accompanying art by portbow [HERE](http://portbow.tumblr.com/post/162327373513/heres-my-thylabang-2017-contribution-a-scene)! It beautifully illustrates one of the ending scenes, so do take a look after you read to avoid a possible spoiler :D :D :D

After they’d decimated a bottle of Romulan Ale during their first semester-end celebratory binge at the Academy, Jim had convinced Leonard that teepeeing Commander Greeves’s front lawn would be a good idea. The dimwitted xenobiology professor had failed Leonard’s paper on the Peplonian plague, a topic he’d obsessively researched for months. As the illegal blue liquid had burned through his throat and his common sense, Leonard had become fueled by Jim’s outrage over the red slashing comments befouling his friend’s genius. Jim’s adolescent idea had started to sound like a fitting revenge and an amusing end to a hellish semester of sleepless nights and hair-pulling. When Greeves had threatened to have them expelled after catching the two cadets giggling under his cherry trees, tangled in looping knots of toilet paper, Leonard shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the first time Jim had dragged him into one of his hair-brained schemes, but it wouldn’t be the last.

“Ask Spock for advice,” Jim said after draining his second cup of coffee.

Leonard’s grits turned sour in his mouth.

“I told you to stay away from the purple mushrooms on Vesciea Prime.”

Jim flung a hand across the table, swatting at Leonard’s antagonism as if it were a fly hovering over his breakfast. “Spock dated Uhura for three years. He’ll know about all her pet peeves and favorite things.”

Leonard grimaced. Just his luck he’d fall for the ex-girlfriend of the most aggravating crewmember on this hunk of space junk. 

“Three years is a long time. Maybe they're not quite over.”

Jim glanced across the mess where Uhura was eating breakfast with Spock and two other science officers. “Uhura said they both agreed to end their romantic relationship.” He buried his nose in his mug and frowned at the empty contents. The hindered enthusiasm in Jim’s voice didn’t inspire Leonard’s confidence.

“Forget I opened my big fat mouth. The shitty atmosphere on Vesciea scrambled my brains.” Rubbing his eyes, Leonard considered taking a sick day. Chapel could handle Lieutenant Parroco’s hypochondriac complaints for a day.

“Come on, Bones. Don't give up on love so easily.”

Leonard squinted. It was too early for Jim’s sunny-eyed optimism. He should have known better; talking romance with Jim was generally a bad idea. Once the kid got a faint whiff of hope from his wearied friend, he jumped straight into the scuffed and faded pilot’s seat of Leonard’s life, hand hovering way too close to the photon beam’s trigger. Leonard had lost count of how many times Jim had set him up on a blind date with a friend of a friend or pushed him into an ill-fated hook up with some sketchy alien.

“Says the guy who can’t keep a man, woman, or anything in between in his bed for more than twenty-four hours.”

Silencing Leonard’s grumbling protest with a hand against his mouth, Jim’s head lifted, a suspicious sparkle glinting in his eyes.

“Hey, Spock,” Jim yelled, waving a hand over his head. “Come over here for a sec!”

“Damn it, Jim,” Leonard hissed. “Shut your meddling mouth.”

“Do you require assistance, Captain?” Spock asked as he approached. Leonard cringed. His jaw clenched. The last person he needed dating advice from was their resident walking, talking computer.

“Not this time.” Jim nodded at his friend with a vicious grin. “Bones needs your help.”

Spock’s eyebrow practically leapt from his face – the most obvious expression Leonard had seen from the Vulcan since his feverish chuckle in Altamid’s caves. “Is this one of your attempts at humor, Captain?”

“Attempts?” Jim scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means even a Vulcan knows your jokes are lame.”

Slouching in his chair, Jim crossed his arms with a pout. “Ever since your joyride together across Yorktown, you two have started siding against me.”

Spock glanced at Leonard.

“Considering the dire nature of our mission and the doctor’s inept piloting skills, joy is not an emotion I would ascribe to that particular memory.”

Leonard felt the grits curdling in his stomach. “If you hadn’t been distracting me with your backseat driving the whole time, I could have concentrated on figuring out how to land that cursed contraption.”

“If I had not advised that you maneuver the vessel away from eight different obstructions, both of us would have sustained serious bodily harm.”

“Ok you two, cool your warp cores,” Jim interrupted with a convenient burst of laughter. “Spock. Bones needs dating advice.”

Several thoughts flashed through Leonard’s mind in quick succession. He imagined slapping a hand across Jim’s face, knocking him to the ground, forcing a handful of lettuce into the kid’s mouth while he threatened to inoculate him twice-over with every vaccine in Starfleet Medical’s database—anything to stop his loudmouthed friend from revealing another word. Ever since Spock became the best thing to him since replicated coffee, Jim had lost all sense of discretion. When Spock had blamed Leonard’s slow pace during their collection of bacteria samples on Arulus Prime on his addiction to Benazoid candies, Leonard had started filtering his confessions to Jim. Only his ex-wife and his best friend knew Leonard liked to eat a handful of candy before bed, and he would bet ten bars of latinum that Jocelyn and Spock weren’t subspace penpals. But, unfortunately, a few glasses of bourbon always loosened Leonard’s lips and Jim had always been generous with his liquor and his ear.

Spock stared at Leonard coldly for a moment before glancing back at Jim. “I doubt the validity of your statement, Captain.”

“Too right,” Leonard stood, grabbing his half-finished plate. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m due back in sick bay. I have a round of crew physicals to finish off.”

“Bones, wait—”

Without another glance at the two men, Leonard dumped his leftover food in the recycler and hurried out of the mess hall. Uhura smiled at him with a wave as he passed and Leonard proceeded to float down to sick bay on the fantasy of walking hand and hand with the lieutenant on the shores of Risa, the sunset no comparison against the gracious curve of her lips.

With a firm reminder that a smile and a wave meant nothing more than a polite greeting, Leonard grounded himself before walking through the sickbay doors and greeting Lieutenant Parroco’s shaky smile with a determined grimace.

 

*

 

Leonard tossed his PADD onto his desk, and opened the bottom drawer, reaching for his bottle of bourbon. After a day cleaning up the self-sacrificing horseshit the Enterprise crew enjoyed rolling in, he needed some of the good stuff to help him unwind. Lieutenant Jones had given even Jim Kirk a run for his money in the medical avoidance department when he attempted, and failed, to convince the CMO that his experiment involving “sensitive” dust from the god-forsaken planet they had recently visited couldn’t wait the thirty minutes Leonard needed to fuse the boy’s knee cap—shattered during a fall on B-deck.

When he turned and discovered Spock standing in front of his desk, the top of his head glowing eerily under the dim overhead lighting, Leonard almost dropped his precious bottle.

“Good God, Spock! You scared the crap out of me.”

“I can wait while you attend to your ablutions and retrieve a clean uniform.”

Collapsing into his chair, Leonard poured a larger glass than he usually indulged in. “What the hell do you want?”

“I desire nothing from the mythological underworld constructed by the Terran catholic religion.”

Leonard wondered if he had suffered a heart attack after his divorce and dropped dead on the floor of his clinic in Georgia. To atone for his sins, he’d been tossed into the heavens to be eternally pestered by the devilish creature from the horror stories his grandmother had told him as a child. Punishment for hiding all the half-dead mice he had rescued from their cat in his closet and using Granny’s crocheted dollies as bandages for their torn fur and tails.

Leonard glared at Spock over the rim of his glass. “I highly doubt you’re here for a chat, so if you’ve got some medical issue you’re embarrassed about, just spit it out so I can deal with it and return to enjoying my nightcap without you hovering over me like a vulture.”

“I am functioning optionally, Doctor. I am not here for medical assistance.”

Leonard frowned as the Vulcan stared intently at the pictures hanging on the wall behind his desk. “Well?”

“You have been acquainted with Captain Kirk for six point three years. You resided together for three years at Starfleet Academy’s student dormitories.”

 _Christ._ Leonard sunk into his chair and gave up on the peaceful evening he’d planned for himself involving the latest issue of _Federation Medical_ , a chocolate bar, and his pillow. Spock’s brain must have been clouded by all those sensitive dust samples in the science labs if he suddenly wanted to engage in small talk.

“Don’t you have some meditation to do? An experiment to run?”

Spock stepped forward and leaned toward the photo Gaila had took of Leonard and Jim in their cadet reds. Leonard was frowning over his PADD in the picture, studying for a xenophysiology exam—if he was remembering correctly—while Jim was grinning from ear to ear, probably laughing at some vile comment his Orion girlfriend had made. Jim had dated a lot of people during his years at the Academy, mostly tentative flings that barely lasted a few weeks, but he and Gaila had stayed together for three whole months. “She makes me laugh,” Jim had insisted when Leonard had commented on the abnormal permanence of their relationship, “and she re-programmed our synthesizer to make coffee that actually tastes like coffee.”

“Considering the intimate nature of human friendships based on the verbal exchange of emotional experiences for commiseration and evaluation, I have extrapolated a ninety-two point eight percent likelihood that you are familiar with the details of the captain’s past romantic relationships and his preferences in prospective suitors.”

Leonard snorted. Jim’s serial dating had eased since the commencement of their five-year mission, but three years rooming with Jim at the Academy had given Leonard enough details about his friend’s love life to last him a life time. Jim liked to share, even when Leonard didn’t feel like listening. Like at three in the morning when Jim had returned from a date with a fellow cadet, or an officer temporarily posted at Starfleet headquarters, or someone who had caught his eye at the air train stop that morning.

“If you’re after some juicy gossip about the captain, ask him yourself. The kid loves to brag.”

Spock continued to stare at the photo, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “At this juncture in my research, a secondary source would be preferable.”

Leonard massaged his temples to ease the headache beginning to thrum against his skull. “What’s this all about, Spock?”

“I am here to offer my assistance in your romantic endeavors with Lieutenant Uhura.”

Leonard gulped down the last of his drink and dropped the glass on his desk. “Jim wheedled you into this, didn’t he?”

“Although Captain Kirk was adamant in his request, my assistance is offered of my own volition.”

“Well, do me a favor and forget everything he told you.”

“Was the captain speaking an untruth when he described your admiration for Lieutenant Uhura?”

As his cheeks burned, Leonard convinced himself it was the bourbon.

“Was he lying when he expressed a desire for you to share your overabundance of emotional energy on a deserving individual and to witness your eventual happiness with a mate who would appreciate your attributes? Eight minutes and twenty-four seconds of the captain’s morning leisure time was spent listing these attributes and reasons why you are deserving of Nyota’s attentions, despite my insistence that his time would be more valuably spent consuming a nutritional substance other than his usual caffeinated beverage before alpha shift.”

Leonard glanced out the viewport.

“It is not in Jim’s nature to spread untruths about those close to him that could lead to disruptive misunderstandings,” Spock murmured. His chin rose as if he were quoting one of his treasured Surakian rules of logic. 

Leonard lifted his bottle of bourbon. “You want some?”

“I do not consume alcohol.”

Snorting, Leonard poured another glass for himself. “Well, that explains a lot.” He waved a hand at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down.”

Spock blinked. “I prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself.” He took a sip from his glass. “Jim’s a good friend. Tends to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, but he means well, I suppose.”

“The captain has said the same of you on a number of occasions.”

Leonard brushed a hand across his mouth, hiding a grin. “So, you think I have a chance with Uhura?”

“I cannot confirm with absolute certainty. However, she has always spoken of you with regard and has stated that you are, and I quote, a real gentleman.”

Gaping, Leonard leaned forward in his chair, the legs dropping with a clang onto the floor. “She said that?”

“Indeed.”

Leonard grinned. “Maybe I do have a chance at winning the lovely lady’s heart after all.”

Spock’s lips tightened. “I am in agreement that your chances of gaining Nyota’s affections are above zero percent.”

Closing his eyes with a sigh, Leonard shook his head. From Spock, that was practically encouragement. “So, you’ll really help me out? Maybe tell me her favorite flower? What sort of food she likes?”

“If you believe these trivial facts will assist you, I can provide them.” Spock shifted, as if he were about to take a step forward but had decided against it. “However, I request your assistance in return.”

“You want my help?” Bones guffawed. “If you’re in as perfect health as you say, how could I possibly help you?”

Spock’s eyes fell to the floor. “My quandary, I am loathe to admit, strays into similar emotional territory as your own.”

“Oh?” Leonard leaned his elbows on the desk. This was turning into a more interesting evening than even _Federation Medical_ could provide. When Spock experienced emotions, his hands generally ended up wrapped around someone’s throat.

“In colloquial Standard terminology, it is a matter of the heart.”

Leonard gaped. “You’re in love?”

“Affirmative,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The tinman actually grew a heart.” Leonard grabbed another glass from the cupboard and filled it with a splash of bourbon. “Here.” He placed the drink firmly on the other end of the table where Spock was cowering like an over-cooked string bean. “Sounds like you need it.”

Spock stared at the glass. After a moment in which Leonard waited for a wordy description about the illogical attributes of alcohol, Spock picked up the glass, drained its contents, coughed, pressing a hand to his lips, and then sat primly in the chair he had previously rejected.

“Who is it?” Leonard demanded, gently.

“Captain Kirk.”

“What!” Leonard choked on a mouthful of bourbon. “Jim?”

“Is there another Captain Kirk you are acquainted with?” Spock snapped.

“Holy. Wow.” It was like Spock had picked up the bottle of bourbon and smashed it over Leonard’s head. Jim and Spock. Spock and Jim. The Vulcan couldn’t have chosen a more unlikely crush. “Does Jim know?”

“He does not.” Spock replied. “This is where your assistance is required.”

“So, you want me to help you win over Jim?”

“I believe a human phrase that would appropriately describe our current predicament would be, if I scratch your back, you will scratch mine.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Is that not the correct saying?”

“No, it’s right. I just can’t believe I’m hearing you say it.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “As eighty point three percent of your verbal interaction is riddled with figurative speech, I assumed communicating similarly would be the most effective approach to convey my intentions.”

Leonard bit his tongue against a retort. It must have taken every ounce of Spock’s courage to admit his feelings out loud.

“You do know I’m divorced, right? I’m definitely no expert when it comes to romance. I couldn’t even convince my wife to stay with me.”

“As I stated previously, you are the captain’s closest confidant. And you have, even if the marriage did not last, succeeded in convincing a human, despite your flaws, to engage in matrimony with you.”

“Funny how that happens.” Leonard frowned, drifting into reminiscence. “One minute you’re madly in love, the next you’re arguing for days about who left a dirty cup in the sink.”

“Doctor,” Spock quietly urged. “Will you assist me?”

“Jim, huh?” Leonard refilled his glass, picked it up, then reconsidered at his thoughts caught on a bramble. Spock and Jim. Spock with Jim. Jim with Spock? It sounded like an emotional train wreck waiting to happen.

“You’re right. Jim’s my best friend and I know him pretty well. I’ve seen him through both the good times and the bad. And I get it. He’s attractive, he’s charismatic. Sometimes he’s endearing when he’s not quoting Shakespeare in the middle of the night, or setting your room on fire after trying to make a birthday cake on a hot plate.”

“Fascinating,” Spock muttered to himself, quietly.

“But, his romantic track record,” Leonard continued, “how should I put it—it’s been a rocky road filled with more mishaps than I can count on two hands.”

Spock straightened. “Perhaps he has not found a mate that can sufficiently address his needs.”

Leonard covered his laugher by clearing his throat loudly. “And you think you’re the man to do the job?”

“I possess a sufficient amount of determination.”

“I feel like I’ve stepped into the twilight zone.”

“Once again, your meaning is lost on me.”

“You’re going to get your heart broken.”

“The Vulcan heart is not so feeble that it malfunctions under emotional distress.”

Leonard assessed the stoic figure before him. “And what if you succeed? _You_ might break his heart.” The last thing Leonard wanted to put Jim through was another shotgun romance. Jim had wasted enough sleepless nights and quarts of ice cream over assholes, idiots, and weirdos during his days as a naïve cadet. He might be too emotional, too physical, and too erratic to handle a Vulcan boyfriend.

“Harm upon Captain Kirk’s cardiovascular system is an outcome I intend to avoid. Indeed, I would rather inflict injury upon my own body than his.”

As determined devotion flooded Spock’s features, Leonard re-imagined every moment he had witnessed between Spock and Jim over their years aboard the Enterprise. The subtle expressions on Spock’s face when Jim grazed his arm, or made a bad joke, or laughed, or stuffed his face full of French fries. Looks Leonard may have wondered about but disregarded as mere signs of tolerance. The devastation Scotty had seen Spock express after Jim’s almost fatal adventure in the warp core, and the quiet joy Leonard had witnessed when Jim had taken his first unaided breath after being injected with Khan’s superhuman blood. The determination when Spock pulled Jim from the grips of the void after his clash with Edison aboard Yorktown. The fear when Jim had told Spock he couldn’t be without him. After their mission on Altamid, Leonard had expected Spock to carry through with his decision to leave Starfleet and start a life on New Vulcan. When he stepped aboard the Enterprise-A after her refurbishment, despite the rumors and eventual confirmation of his separation from Uhura, Leonard had been surprised, and maybe a little pleased considering a ship run by a unhinged adventure-seeking Captain sans disapproving Vulcan first officer was a death trap waiting to snap. But when Leonard stopped to think about all of Spock’s little glances, stares, and emotional leaks over the years, he realized Spock never could have left the Enterprise.

“You really are in love with him.”

Spock was silent.

“I don’t think Jim’s ever dated anything resembling a Vulcan before.”

“You believe my cause is hopeless.”

Maybe not hopeless. Jim was obviously a fan of Spock’s. He never got sick of telling Leonard how great the Enterprise’s first officer was: how he’d solved another abstract physics equation, or almost made a joke that had sent Jim into a fit of hysterics on the bridge, or saved his life for the gazillionth time.

“I’d say your chances are above zero percent.”

Spock’s lips twitched and Leonard had the grace to not point it out.

“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and frankly, you drive me up the wall on a daily basis. But, I’ll admit, you’ve been a good influence on Jim over the years. And you’re a hell of a lot more sensible than Jim’s past romantic conquests.”

“You approve?” Spock droned.

“Not that you care about my opinion, but yeah. Can’t believe I’m saying it, but I think you have a bigger heart than you let on. Especially when it comes to Jim.”

Spock pressed a hand to his side. “The captain’s presence has had a notable effect on the regulation of my cardiovascular system.”

“All right, that does it.” Leonard stood and reached a hand across the desk. “We have a deal.”

Spock stared down at Leonard’s hand, eyebrow once again lifted.

“A handshake.” Leonard waved his hand up and down. “It’s how my people seal a deal and agree to work together.”

“Vulcans do not generally participate in superfluous acts of physical contact.”

Leonard snorted, his hand starting to droop with the weight of holding it so long. “And here’s your first teaching moment. You’ll have to get over your skin phobia if you want to get anywhere with Jim.”

Spock exhaled. “Very well.” After a moment, he loosely took Leonard’s outstretched hand. “I verbally agree to impart my expertise about Lieutenant Uhura’s likes and dislikes in exchange for similar information pertaining to Captain Kirk’s romantic inclinations.”

Leonard burst into laughter as Spock retreated a second later, his hands once again tucked neatly behind his back. “I better not regret this,” he said as his stomach flitted into his throat. Jim’s voice echoed in his skull— _take Spock’s advice_! When Leonard stopped to consider why he kept jumping over every bridge his wayward friend led him over, he remembered what happened after the teepying incident and Commander Greeve’s threats. Jim had taken the full brunt of the blame, and had petitioned the academic board, in some miracle of persuasion, to not only erase Leonard’s misdemeanor from his permanent record, but to also reevaluate his paper on the Peplonian plague. Leonard had gotten off with a light reprimand and an A+ in xenobiology. Jim had accepted the permanent stain on his Starfleet record with a shrug and a laugh, explaining that it would give his future command applications more pizazz than a blindingly clean slate. Even if his crazy schemes led Leonard down a perilous route, Jim was always the one to step forward and take every scrape and bruise from the thorns that crossed their path. Spock, Leonard had noted, had the same tendency to follow Jim’s lead. But at least he could use his handy Vulcan strength to pull Jim out of harm’s way.


	2. Chapter 2

Spock had quantified the precise moment he had perceived the emotion commonly known as love within his cerebral cortex in regards to Captain Kirk and recorded each of his physical reactions, which ranged from heightened body temperature to a dilation of his pupils, for further analyzation. To remove the possibility that anomalies had been affecting his physiological functions, such as malfunctions in the ship’s heating and lighting systems, Spock had removed himself from Kirk’s presence for the rest of the day following Spock’s abnormal response to his commanding officer, and attended to a round of experiments in the science labs. After diverting his mind from thoughts of his captain with work and sleep for a period of eight hours, forty-one minutes and twelve seconds, Spock had returned to the bridge the next morning for alpha shift. When the captain had greeted him with his usual “good morning,” Spock’s body had reacted as if he had been fasting for eight days rather than eight hours.

“When did you fall for Jim?” McCoy asked during their first official meeting of what the doctor had coined, against Spock’s objections, the Lonely Hearts Club—a name that did not add a sense of optimism to their proceedings.

How descriptive a term, Spock thought. To fall in love. Although he had once scoffed at the colloquial nature of Terran Standard, he could think of no better phrase to describe his initial romantic reaction to Captain Kirk with such efficiency. He had felt as if Mr. Scott had switched off the gravity controls of the ship and, in a sadistic display of unprofessionalism, had switched them on again a moment later without warning.

“On stardate 2263.3 at thirteen hundred forty-eight hours.”

“Hmm.” McCoy glared at Spock speculatively. “Isn’t that before you broke up with Uhura?”

It was a fact Spock was not proud of. Indeed, his emotions for the captain had been the catalyst for shame on a variety of accounts. Shame that he should experience such emotions when he was in a monogamous relationship with someone he deeply admired and respected. Shame that he was feeling these emotions for a commanding officer. Fear that he had once again allowed himself to become emotionally compromised. Shame that he could not control and prevent the surging tide within him.

“I will not refute it,” Spock answered.

Doctor McCoy leaned forward in his chair. “Sounds like there’s a story here.”

“This is not a fictional tale, Doctor, but a description of experiences that have occurred during my present lifespan.”

“Just tell me more, Spock. I need details.”

“Is this wholly necessary?”

“Do you want my help or not? I’m a doctor. If you want me to heal this erratic heart of yours, I need to know the symptoms and derive the cause.”

“Although it is not my area of expertise, I believe the emotions pertaining to physical attraction manifest within the brain and not the heart.”

McCoy rested his head in his hands as if he had been overcome with a case of cephalgia. “Like pulling teeth,” he mumbled.

“Doctor?”

“I would appreciate it, Spock,” McCoy said with gritted teeth, “if you would inform me of the details that led to your initial attraction to Jim during the date and hour your referenced.”

Spock crossed his hands in his lap. His cheeks threatened to burn as he recalled the memory. “Upon my return to the bridge after my afternoon meal, the captain turned to address me, smiled, and stated, ‘I’m glad you’re back, Mr. Spock.’”

McCoy lifted his head and glared with an unappealing looseness to his jaw muscles that caused his mouth to resemble a black hole.

“And?”

“And what?”

“That’s it?”

“What else do you require?” Spock asked.

“You fell in love with Jim because he smiled pretty and spouted a line he’s probably said to you and every competent officer on this ship a million times before?”

“Apparently,” Spock replied, sharply. McCoy’s confirmation was not required for Spock to realize the irrationality of his passions.

“Are you sure that wasn’t just the tipping point? That you weren’t subconsciously attracted to Jim for ages? That these little heartfelt moments didn’t begin to pile up one by one in your memory until suddenly, _bam_!” McCoy clapped his hands in front of Spock’s face, “all those repressed emotions became too much for the dam you’d built up in your head and they all came flooding out at once.”

It was true that Captain Kirk had been a disruptive force in Spock’s life since the day they met—one that Spock may have underestimated the qualitative power of. “Although your description of neuron emission within the Vulcan brain is overly figurative, I will not negate the probability of your underlying meaning.”

“Ok.” McCoy leaned back in his chair and pressed a hand to his chin. “So, you’ve been secretly in love with Jim for years—”

“That may be an overstatement.”

“And pretended to only be interested in his friendship for—”

“I have not pretended,” Spock replied, admonishing himself for the spark of anger that flickered along his vocal cords. “I cherish the captain’s friendship.”

McCoy frowned. “Yet, you’re still calling him by his title.”

Spock shifted in his chair as he considered a course of escape. Although he had, after much consideration, acknowledged the logic of requesting aid from the captain’s closest friend, Spock realized the endeavor may be entirely futile. Not only because of Spock’s romantic incompatibility with the captain, but because of McCoy’s demonstrative ego which clouded his rationality.

“He is the captain of this ship. I can perceive no issue in addressing him with a title he has earned through his exemplary leadership aboard the Enterprise.”

The doctor glared at him. “Here’s your first tip, buddy. Cut it with the ‘Captain, this, Captain that.’ Intimacy starts with informality. Call him by his name. Call him Jim.”

Spock stared. He had, on occasions of insurmountable pressure, addressed the captain by the deducted version of his given name. However, the thought of doing so on a regular basis was inadmissible.

“That would be unprofessional.”

“Isn’t that the point?” McCoy lifted an irate hand aloft. “Let’s say you two actually got a thing going. Would you call him captain when you’re alone together? When you’re touching each other? When you’re in bed?” He paused, and chuckled to himself, likely over an abstract thought Spock had no desire for elucidation on. “And would you want him to call you Commander Spock during such intimate moments?”

Spock glanced away, his hands retreating unconsciously behind his back. “I am beginning to deduce the logic in your suggestion.”

“Then, when you see him tomorrow morning, call him Jim.”

Spock’s eyes widened. His side constricted. “During a duty shift? It would be considered highly offensive to address a ship’s captain so informally on the bridge.”

“I do it all the time. We’re talking about Jim here. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about formalities.”

Spock shifted onto one foot and then the other. He did not understand how the posteriors of Earth vermin were related to Starfleet regulations regarding the proper address of senior officers aboard Federation vessels. 

“Jim will love it, trust me,” McCoy insisted, slapping Spock on the arm. His aggression combined with his complacent expression bewildered Spock. “So, now that I’ve given you your tip, give me mine. We had a deal.”

Spock lifted a brow. He was still caught within the web of McCoy’s ludicrous proposal as he imagined various expressions of displeasure marring the captain’s usually pleasant visage if Spock dared to venture beyond the boundaries of their customary discourse.

“Give me a tip about Uhura, already. Something that would make her happy.”

Spock was still doubtful that the doctor’s suggestion would cause the captain joy rather than annoyance. However, it had been Spock who had initially proposed the agreement between himself and McCoy, and if he rendered it void within a week of its initiation, Spock had misjudged the veracity of his desire to prove himself worthy of the captain’s romantic attentions.

“Tribbles,” Spock said.

“Tribbles?” Leonard repeated.

“Nyota is fond of the species. She believes them to be ‘cute.’”

“You’re telling me I should give the lady a bouquet full of tribbles?”

“You asked my opinion and I have given it to you.”

McCoy shook his head with a laugh. “Well, if you’re trusting my dating advice, I guess I’ll have to trust yours.”

 

*

 

It may have been a while since he partook, but Leonard was no amateur when it came to flirting. He’d been drawn into the practice ever since he noticed how pretty Jenny Addison’s face was at the tender age of twelve, and he’d continued playing until his heart settled on Jocelyn nine years later. When his marriage, which he’d jumped into with fervor and optimism after a whirlwind romance, ended in emotional bloodshed, Leonard had given up on the dating game, content, at least for a while, to wallow in his pessimism. But that didn’t mean he was blind to others playing the game around him. Actually, he found it amusing to sit back and analyze the shift of pieces across the board, sometimes cautious and tactical, other times haphazard and clumsy.

After Spock’s confession, Leonard closely observed the Vulcan's interactions with Jim. Greetings as they crossed paths in the hallway. Orders given and complied with on the bridge. A half hour spent discussing mission assignments for the survey on Tanlian II over lunch. A game of chess in the rec room after alpha shift. There was nothing between them that Leonard hadn’t already seen a thousand times over the course of their three years cooped up on the Enterprise. No telltale signs in Jim’s expressions or gestures. None of the lame pickup lines his friend had used with aggravating success when chatting up prospective partners at a bar, a club, on the street, or some other place he’d dragged Leonard to on their shore leaves. Not once did Jim place a hand on Spock, not even in the friendly manner he constantly used with his other friends like Leonard or Sulu, or even Uhura. Not once did he toss an arm around Spock’s shoulder, or squeeze his arm in thanks when Spock bent to hand him the PADD that had gone flying from his fingers as Jim was descriptively explaining the effects of Tanzian ale on the nervous system to the bridge crew. In fact, it was almost as if Jim was consciously distancing himself from his first officer. When he sat down to lunch, he chose the opposite side of the table from Spock. When he had started flirting with Gary, Gaila, or any of the others from his past, Jim had thrown himself across the lap of his prospective partner at every opportunity. Instead of pressing his shoulder against Spock’s as they walked down the hallway side-by-side, he left a space between them large enough for an Altarian bearhound to jump through.

Sure, Spock got on his nerves most of the time, but Leonard hated to admit that the Vulcan’s budding feelings might be unrequited. It had taken thirty-two years for the seeds to grow, and now Spock’s emotional roots were about to be raked over. Strange, really. Leonard had expected, considering his colleague’s obsession with logic, that there must be a supportive basis behind Spock’s crush on Jim. He wondered if Jim had ever made a suggestive comment to Spock or hinted at the possibility of something between them than what already was.

His thoughts flipped through Spock’s tragic love-life as if he’d been reading one of the rabbit-eared romance novels Jocelyn had kept stashed under their old bed. Not the sweet, fluffy stories, but the addictive plots that got tangled up in the character’s will-they-won’t-they struggle for three hundred pages of nail-biting torture. As Leonard considered how to re-write Spock’s own story, he missed Lieutenant Walker’s vein twice when applying the kid’s Sadrian flu vaccine.

A few days later, while Jim was bent over his replicator—a shiny new addition to the Enterprise-A—trying to program it to synthesize a chicken sandwich that included lettuce as well as tomatoes and mayo, Leonard decided to get to the bottom of Jim's feelings.

“Do you like Spock?”

Leonard jumped out of the way as Jim stuck a contorted metal contraption into the circuity and it sparked. He should have thought better than to spend a meal in his friend’s cabin without bringing a med kit.

“Yeah, of course.” Jim ducked as the machine sparked again. “He’s the best first officer in the fleet. I’d be lost without him.”

“No. I mean do you _like_ like him?”

Jim fell back onto his hands and stared up at Leonard open-mouthed. “ _Like_ like?”

Nodding, he watched Jim’s face intently. Maybe he’d misjudged the situation and there actually was a possibility that Jim could fall for a guy who had his shit together and—

Rolling onto his back, tools clattering out his hands, Jim burst into laughter. “ _Like_ like? How old are you? Ten?”

“Just answer the damn question!” Leonard yelled, kicking Jim’s shaking shoulder.

“How’d you even get that idea?” Jim chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes. “Spock’s not even my type.”

“So you don’t _like_ like him?”

“I like him.” Kneeling, Jim turned away to grab at his discarded tools. “But I’m not about to jump his bones, if that’s what you mean.”

“Dammit,” Leonard muttered under his breath. “I suspected as much.”

“What?” Jim suddenly scrambled across the floor to invade Leonard’s space. “Is this some kind of prank? Did Sulu get you in on this? What’s the bet? Win a hundred credits if you can get the captain and first officer to make out on the bridge?” He bopped his friend on the chest with a screwdriver. “Traitor.”

“As if I’d ever want to see that!” Leonard stepped back and shoved a mock finger down his throat, pretending to gag. “I just thought, you know, since you two get along so well and it must get a little lonesome being in the center chair.” He scratched at his chin. “And Spock’s a steady sort of fellow.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “So, you want me to date Spock?”

“I’m not telling you to do anything.”

“You know what you need to do?” Jim patted his friend on the cheek. “Stop worrying about my non-existent love life and focus on your own.” He turned back to the replicator and screwed the covering back over the circuitry.

“Maybe if you weren’t always giving me cause to worry I’d—”

“Hey.” Jim threw an abnormally strict glance over his shoulder. “Captain’s orders. Stop hiding behind my problems. Have you even confessed your undying love to Uhura, yet?”

Leonard shrugged. “Of course not. Don’t want to scare her off.”

“Coward.” Jim glared at him before punching a sequence into the replicator’s control panel. A perfectly formed chicken sandwich appeared in the receptacle below the machine. “Aha!” Jim cheered and lifted the plate. “I’m a genius!” 

 

*

 

“Captain.” Something smashed against his foot. McCoy glared at him fiercely from where he sat across the table. As expected, the doctor was indelicate in the administration of his advice both medical and personal.

Spock paused to gather his resolve. “Jim.”

The captain’s attention was immediately drawn from the consumption of his breakfast. “What did you just say?”

“I apologize,” Spock answered immediately. He grabbed the meal tray still covered with a breakfast he had hardly touched. Indigestion not directly related to his physical health, but a foolish fear of a single syllable, had plagued him since Doctor McCoy prescribed this particular from of torture upon Spock. Standing swiftly, Spock calculated the most expedient exit from the mess hall.

It was a cowardly retreat, and likely a short lived one. When the captain requested a response to a question, he would not allow the answer to stay hidden behind tight lips. Through his persuasiveness and determination, even when Doctor McCoy voraciously demanded that he “mind his own business,” Captain Kirk would eventually uncover the plot to a recent holovid, what someone was disguising behind their back, the gossip being whispered between Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov at the helm, what Nyota had gotten him for his birthday, and any other pertinent or irrelevant fact a colleague or friend was keeping from his knowledge.

That was why, when Captain Kirk entered the bridge eighteen point two minutes later and did not immediately approach him at the science station, Spock was confused. A further twelve minutes passed in which the captain conversed with Lieutenant Sulu, received a report on the cultural tendencies of the Uflovian species from Lieutenant Uhura, and sat in silence for the remainder. Spock could only assume Kirk was reading the Lieutenant’s report as he did not want to call attention to himself by averting his gaze from the readings on his console to glance over his shoulder at the captain’s chair.

“What do you know about _phisyihier_?” The captain asked, stepping into Spock’s peripheral vision. His tongue had caught on the foreign syllables and mispronounced the word. Spock’s heart swelled infuriatingly against his side.

A question. But not the one Spock was expecting. He ignored the slow seep of disappointment that dripped from the neuro transmitters in his lateral habenula, and took the PADD displaying Lieutenant Uhura’s report from the captain’s hand. He read over the paragraph mentioning the substance.

“Ensign Walker of the botany department and Lieutenant Zh'qithor of the medical team researched the substance and discovered that it had hallucinatory properties. Which explains the use of it among the Uflovians in their religious ceremonies.” He handed the PADD back to Kirk.

“Ok.” The captain smiled and took the PADD. His hands rested on the opposite side of the metallic surface, eleven point four centimeters from Spock’s. “Thanks.” He returned to the captain’s chair.

 

*

 

“You’re a terrible student,” McCoy yelled as he stormed into Science Lab E at 15:08 as Spock was observing the effects of Uflovia’s nitrogen-based atmosphere on its diverse plant life. Lieutenants Yulgn and Spaziani, who were working on their own projects at the other side of the room, glanced up at the disturbance.

“Please lower your voice to a more reasonable decibel, Doctor.”

McCoy glanced across the room. “Oh. Right.” He dropped into a chair next to Spock, leaned in, and hissed loudly. “I apologize? What the hell was that?”

“Calling Captain Kirk by his abbreviated first name was a mistake.” Spock prodded a leaf with a gloved finger. “He was agitated by my obvious misdemeanor.”

“Are you blind, or actually that emotionally dense?” McCoy pounded a fist on the table, causing a vile of test tubes to jostle loudly against one another. “Jim thought you ran off because he’d offended you somehow.”

Spock looked up. “Why would he suspect that? I was the injuring party in this instance, not him.”

“God only knows,” McCoy grumbled. “But you better fix this. You’ve only made things worse.”

“You were the one who advised me to alter my verbal address toward the captain.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you to hop away like a wounded bunny a second later!”

Spock returned his attention to his experiment.

“Hey.” McCoy nudged Spock’s arm lightly. “Try again tomorrow morning. And I’ll be watching you.” He pointed a finger perilously close to Spock’s eye. “If you run, I’ll take you down.”

As Leonard left the lab, the eyes of Spock’s subordinates curiously following him, Spock failed to mention the likelihood of the human’s weaker strength overcoming his superior Vulcan one.

 

*

 

“Morning, Spock.” Captain Kirk smiled with immense cheer as Spock took his usual seat at their mess hall table. As he did every morning, Spock noted the way the captain smiled with all of his features: warmth lit his eyes despite their shade which varied on the cool side of the color spectrum; his skin creased along the edges, spreading outward to his hairline; the wide tilt of his lips and lift of his cheekbones. It was a smile he always directed without reserve at Spock, and which never failed to cause Spock’s temperature to rise deep within his belly and his heart to beat more rapidly than was normal for an adult Vulcan. He coveted these small moments, storing them in his eidetic memory for recall when he was wearied at the end of a tumultuous day, or after struggling with a particular quandary in the labs. These memories, as his mother may have said, ‘lifted his spirits,’ despite the lack of other worldly beings residing within his body. Perhaps, McCoy had expressed a rare logical declaration. Spock’s descent into love had not been a simple epiphany one revelatory afternoon on the bridge, but a slow process, like a hike down the rough cliffs of Mount Seleya on a hot summer day. It was a process that had begun when Kirk had first smiled at him in his overabundant way and Spock had disregarded its affect as a mere twinge in his knees.

From where he was seated at Kirk’s side, Doctor McCoy clenched his fist ominously on the table in plain sight. “Mornin’ Spock,” he mumbled around a large mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“Good morning, Doctor.” Spock nodded in his direction and then returned his gaze to the promise of the captain’s face. “Good morning, Jim.”

Spock was rewarded with the flash of Jim’s teeth as his smile expanded like light waves bouncing off a mirror.


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you like about Jim anyway?” Leonard asked as he swirled the liquid in his glass. “He hardly seems like your type.”

The drink Leonard had poured for Spock rested in his hands untouched. His index fingers occasionally twitched restlessly against the glass.

“Despite my initial misgivings upon our first acquaintance of the captain’s—”

“Jim’s,” Leonard corrected.

“Jim’s.” Every time he spoke the name, Spock paused for a moment as if he were savoring the word on his tongue, or stopping to regain his strength after emptying his reserve of informality.  “Of his casual nature that hinted at a disregard for authority, I have come to realize that there is humility in his character. It is as if he desires to disguise his superior abilities under a façade of carefree triviality. Or, perhaps this is further proof of his shrewd tactical mind. In either instance, this trait has enriched his command of the Enterprise. It encourages individuals who are unfamiliar with him to underestimate his abilities, a trait that has led to many of our successes over the past three years. Or perhaps it is another inner facet of his personality which I have yet to discover.”

Leonard grinned. On second thought, it made sense that a scientist would be interested in someone like Jim. His unpredictability indulged Spock’s insatiable curiosity.

“What else?” Leonard prompted.

Spock stared out of the porthole, his gaze unfocused. “His eyes are an uncommon shade of blue. I have had difficulty diverting my attention from them on a number of occasions.”

Leonard nodded. That one was hardly a surprise, even coming from Spock. “Jim’s won many a heart with a glance from his baby blues.”

Spock lifted the glass as if to drink, but then lowered it again. His finger tapped once, then twice.

“What does Uhura think of this crush you have on Jim?”

“I have not informed her.”

Leonard frowned. “You think she’ll be jealous?”

“I do not.”

“You’re ashamed?”

Spock blinked. “Not precisely.”

“Not precisely?” Leonard straightened in his chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. “What does that mean? You don’t think Jim’s good enough for you?”

Spock’s lips tightened. “Jim is more than good enough. It is I who will never be enough for him.”

“Spock—”

Standing, Spock stepped in front of the porthole. His hand expanded and contracted restlessly against the small of his back. “Despite my hostile attitude and misconduct during our initial acquaintance, Jim requested my placement as his first officer when he gained command of the Enterprise. I was,” Spock paused, “I admit, surprised.”

“Always full of surprises, Jim.” Leonard raised his glass.

Spock nodded and continued. “Although we had succeeded in defeating Nero together, I never considered the possibility of an individual with the captain’s particular qualities desiring a professional partnership with me that could span two months to five years depending on Starfleet’s ship assignments. At first, I refused the captain’s offer. I suspected it was offered with a misguided sense of pity or an emotional response to the tragedy I had recently experienced. I assumed the proposal was his way of attempting to alleviate my suffering by offering a hand in solidarity, but not one he expected to be accepted.”

“I remember this.” Leonard nodded. “But it wasn’t pity. Jim really wanted you to be his first officer. He was practically obsessed—he wouldn’t talk about anything else for weeks. When you refused, didn’t he hound until you said yes?”

“Indeed.” Spock nodded, his head tilting slightly to the right. “Since he had been promoted from cadet to captain with abnormal haste, he informed me that my skills as an experienced Starfleet officer would be a much needed attribute. He said that we would ‘make a good team.’ That we would work well together. And although I doubted his motivations at first, I could not fault his logic that my experience and scientific knowledge with his brash intuition would complement a command team. Indeed, we had already succeeded together once before.”

“His enthusiasm got to you.”

Spock turned to glance back at Leonard. “Logic was the catalyst. Jim himself was the deciding factor.” An almost smile softened his features as he glanced down at the floor. “This topic leads to another of the captain’s characteristics that I find endearing: his lack of prejudice. He held no grudge against me for my crimes against him. He only saw how I could be useful to the ship and forgot the unpleasantness that had occurred between us. When I accepted the first officer position and we began working together aboard the Enterprise, he accepted me sincerely and persisted in encouraging the development of our friendship despite my initial misgivings. He invited me to share meals with him. He asked Nyota about my interests and pastimes. He asked me to instruct him on the rules of chess when he discovered I was fond of the game but had no one on aboard to compete with. Though I am positive there were a multitude of other diversions he would have preferred to occupy himself with, he chose to spend time with me with no expectation that I would return his attentions.”

Leonard leaned against the desk, his attention rapt. This was probably the most obvious case of unrequited pining Leonard had witnessed beyond the pages of Jocelyn’s romance novels.

“You said any of this to Jim?”

Spock visibly balked. “Of course not.”

Leonard shook his head. “No wonder you’ve gotten nowhere with Jim. New homework for this week—compliments. You’re going to wow Jim by declaring your admiration for him publicly.”

“Flattery.” Spock’s face looked pinched—it was a look he got when Leonard was doing something the Vulcan found distinctly distasteful.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

“The captain must be aware of his physical and personal characteristics. He has, after all, possessed them for thirty years.”

“Three years mooning over Jim and you still haven’t noticed his self-worth issues tucked under all that blustering confidence? It’s just another mask the kid wears.”

Spock stared. “The captain is one of the most capable individuals I am acquainted with. There is no logic to his feelings.”

“Don’t tell me that. Tell him.” Leonard shrugged. “Humans, as you like to remind me, are a flawed species, and many of us, especially perfectionists like Jim, tend to obsess over their weaknesses more than their strengths. Sometimes it gets so bad we imagine weaknesses that don’t exist, or give them more significance than they actually have.”

“I see.” Spock steepled his fingers. “I have rarely spoken of my admiration to the captain believing that his faculties must be obvious to him. This has been an error on my part.”

“Better late than never.”

“Will it not be awkward—suddenly complimenting the captain when I have not before?”

“You’ll be fine. Just tell Jim all that nice stuff you told me. He’ll be happier than a kid in a candy store.”

“I could not—” Spock stammered. “I am not confident I can reveal such private thoughts.”

“Hell, Spock, you gotta. For Jim’s sake. If you tell him how great he is, he might actually listen.” Leonard splashed another drop of bourbon into Spock’s untouched glass. “God knows I’ve been trying to make him see sense for years.”

Spock stared into his glass before resting it resolutely on the table. “If it is in the captain’s best interest, I will endeavor to publicize his value, not only to myself, but to you and the rest of the crew.”

Leonard clinked his glass against Spock’s abandoned one. “Sounds like a plan.” He silently vowed to find excuses to be on the bridge as often as possible over the next week, preferably with a bag of popcorn. If Spock actually worked up enough courage to publicly confess his feelings when Leonard was stuck in sick bay, he would kick himself for missing the best entertainment since Lieutenant lllian had strewn all of Chekov’s underwear across C-deck's corridors after one of their weekly tiffs.

 

*

 

Despite the chill that continued to curl up his spine, Spock’s hands were beading with sweat as the voices of the bridge crew hummed around him. He had determined to make his public declaration this morning, but had, on eleven occasions over the course of three hours, failed to formulate the words upon his tongue.

“She didn’t!” the captain laughed.

“She did,” Lieutenant Sulu replied. “I was cleaning slime out of the kitchen for hours.”

“What did you think of the Rillouan flute piece?” Nyota asked. “It would sound lovely on the lyre.”

“Next time you ask me to baby sit, remind me to bring an enviro-suit.”

“I’m never letting you baby sit again. You fed Demora ice cream, cake, _and_ gummy bears last time you were over. She was bouncing off the walls all night. Ben and I didn’t get any sleep.”

“She asked so nicely! How could I say no?”

“Spock,” Nyota hissed. “Spock!”

He jumped out of his chair without consciously intending to do so. Everyone turned to stare at the sudden movement.

“Something wrong, Spock?” the captain asked.

“I have an announcement to make,” Spock stated before he sunk into cowardice once again.

“Ok,” Jim said. His lips tugged upward.

Spock’s throat closed up.

“Go on.”

“I—”

The curious eyes of the bridge crew burned on him like hot embers.

“Captain.”

“Yes, Spock?”

“Your decision to send Lieutenant Leath and Ensign Tor on the away mission today was a markedly intelligent one.”

“A rare complement.” Jim smiled with a shrug. “But, they were the obvious choice. You would have chosen the same crew.”

Spock was having difficulty diverting his attention from Jim’s mouth. It was another physical trait of the captain’s that Spock found pleasing but which he had abstained from admitting to the doctor for obvious reasons. In the privacy of his own quarters, Spock’s mind occasionally travelled to illogical destinations. When this phenomenon transpired, his mind would frequently dock on the thought of Jim, and more specifically, what if would feel like to press his own fingers against the luscious contours of the captain’s mouth, all soft skin and plump curves, and not have him step away in shock or disgust at his first officer's unethical behavior.

“Negative. I would have chosen Lieutenants Zh'Evras and Laux. If you had left this decision to me, the mission would have likely failed without the expertise in hand-to-hand combat displayed by Ensign Tor, and the communication skills of Lieutenant Leath. Therefore, we would have missed the chance to gather pertinent information on the planet’s species.”

“We got lucky.”

“I do not believe in luck,” Spock argued, the eyes of the bridge crew fading from his peripheral vision as he focused on Jim and the movement of his lips. “You used your leadership skills and knowledge of the crew’s expertise to lead a successful mission. You are an exemplary captain and the Enterprise would be greatly lacking without your command.”

As Jim’s eyes widened, Spock suddenly felt overwhelmed. When he glanced away, his eyes caught on the curious faces of his subordinates. The rush of blood in his ears subsided and was replaced by whispers, the calling beeps of control panels, and the hum of the warp core.

“Ze commander is correct, Captain,” Ensign Chekov piped up, breaking through the white noise. “You are much appreciated among ze crew.”

“We love you, Captain!” Sulu cheered. “Even if you’re a terrible babysitter.” His statement was followed by laughter, nods, and subsequent affirmations across the bridge.

“Well, thanks, everyone. I appreciate you, too. I appreciate all of you.” He looked around at the crew with reddened cheeks until his eyes fell and remained on Spock. “But that goes without saying.”

Unable to bear the emotions fighting for control over his faculties as Jim’s attention focused on him, Spock simply nodded and returned to his seat at the science station.

 

*

 

That evening, McCoy called an emergency meeting of the Lonely Hearts Club.

“Oh my God.” He laughed, bending over double. “I can’t believe you actually did it.” He paused to gulp in a breath. “In front of the whole bridge crew.”

“You advised me that complimenting the captain would be a logical endeavor, so, in consideration of your greater knowledge of Jim’s preferences, I acted upon your suggestion.”

“Dammit man, couldn’t you have waited until I was around? I missed the whole show!” While Spock had been wowing the crowd, Leonard had been locked up in sick bay with Chapel, doing an inventory of their depleted medical supplies before the ship’s restock at Yorktown in a month. He wanted to kick the Vulcan for not giving Leonard a heads up so he could grab a good seat before the show.

“I stated no fact that you and every member of the Enterprise crew was not already aware of.”

“Exactly. And it’s high time Jim heard it. You did good Spock.” McCoy patted the Vulcan’s stiff shoulder.

“I did?”

“Yeah. Jim’s been blushing like a spring rose all day. I haven’t seen him in such a good mood since he got promoted to captain.”

“I am gratified to hear my words provided Jim with a modicum of pleasure,” Spock answered, softly.

“Not to mention he wouldn’t stop talking about you over dinner last night.” After his monotonous day day in sick bay, Leonard had been forced to listen to Jim spew affectionate litanies about his first officer, leaving Leonard, two hours later, despairing over his empty liquor cupboard. This stop in Yorktown couldn’t come soon enough.

“The captain was not displeased by my overly public display?”

As if. The little attention whore would be in ecstasy for days.

“Nope. You’ve gotten into his head. This is really good, Spock. You might actually have a chance here.”

Spock’s face shifted into something a little less stoic.

“Now, it’s time to kick your love-life into gear.” McCoy clapped his hands together. “It’s time to get physical.”

“Physical?” Spock blinked.

“Grab him.”

“Excuse me?” Spock lifted an eyebrow.

“Touch him. Hold his hand. Grip his shoulder. Take him by the hips.”

“I cannot—” Spock gaped.

Leonard thrust his hands out in front of him. “Push him up against the turbolift walls when you’re alone and kiss him.”

“You are humoring me.”

“I’m telling you the stone cold truth, Spock. Give Jim the shock of his life and he’ll fall head over heels in love with you.”

“I am not assaulting the captain physically in the turbolift,” Spock scoffed. “And I recommend you restrain yourself from doing the same to Lieutenant Uhura if you believe such a performance will stimulate affection in another.”

“Do I look like an idiot?” Leonard roared then halted, raising a hand as Spock opened his mouth. “Don’t answer that.” He roughed a hand through his hair and collapsed against the back of his chair. If Spock kept hanging off the precipice of his budding romance, Leonard might have to toss a canister of warp plasma on this slow burning plot.

“Jim likes surprises,” Leonard assured, recalling how Jim continued to throw his friend surprise birthday parties. Every year, he’d concoct crazier and crazier schemes to convince Leonard he’d forgotten his birthday only to jump out of nowhere later in the day with a handful of balloons and giggling crew members. He’d even pulled the act on Spock last year after scouring Starfleet records for the close-mouthed Vulcan’s date of birth. To this day, Jim insisted that Spock had been surprised even though he’d kept his face straighter than a ruler through the whole ordeal.

“I have noticed this proclivity of his,” Spock stated.

“Then don’t tell me you haven’t noticed Jim’s complete and utter abhorrence of physical space. Have you seen him on the dance floor of a Risan club?”

“No,” Spock responded.

“Then there’s a side to Jim you’re definitely missing out on.” Leonard leaned forward in his chair. “I wonder if you could handle it. I mean, if you’re getting prudish about holding his hand.”

Spock stiffened in his chair. The corners of his lips drooped and Leonard, for a brief moment, felt bad about poking the sleeping dragon coiled up in Spock’s repressed brain. “Ok,” Leonard leaned back again. “Baby steps.”

“The captain is fond of children?”

“No! I mean, I don’t know, maybe. That’s not what I meant,” McCoy said, afraid that look in Spock’s eye meant he was actually thinking about snatching some kid from the nearest space station to toss in to Jim’s arms. “Let’s take it slowly with the physical contact, one small step at a time.”

Spock stiffened again. “Is this form of physical wooing entirely necessary?”

Leonard began to wonder about the backstory behind Spock’s hesitancy. Had he experienced a failed romance as a child that had caused his discomfort with physical intimacy? Or was Spock’s uncertainty a religious thing, a logic thing, or a cultural thing? Did Vulcans in love not touch each other until they were Vulcan married? Would Spock be committing a cultural taboo if he laid a hand on Jim? Did Jim know this? Was this why he continued to put so much space, by his standards, between him and Spock? Was this why Jim kept his hands to himself? Did Jim secretly want to throw his arms around his favorite first officer every time Spock stiffly greeted him in the morning? Leonard admitted he knew little of Vulcan courtship and everything he did know had been inferred through Spock’s awkward reactions to descriptions of human dating rituals.

“How about some roleplay?” McCoy stood. “Pretend I’m Jim, and you be you.”

“I do not want to touch you,” Spock replied immediately, crossing his arms across his chest. He tucked his hands under his armpits.

Leonard flopped back into his seat with a groan. “You’re making a little kiss on the cheek or a grip of the hand sound like a death sentence. Will you implode if you touch, Jim?”

Spock inhaled. “I am not a bomb.”

“No?” Leonard watched, waiting. He tapped his foot methodically against the floor.

“It might offend him.” Spock finally broke the silence. “The captain. If I touch him.”

Or maybe, Leonard realized, formality was the safety bubble Spock wrapped around himself. Now, he just needed someone with enough gumption to sneak up behind him with a needle.

“He won’t. Jim touches everybody—it’s how he shows his affection. He likes being close to people he cares about.”

Spock nodded once. “I have observed his physical closeness with friends and crewmates such as yourself who he has a strong comradery with. However, despite our friendship and working relationship, I can only recall three times in which he has made physical contact with my person. One was out of necessity, the other two, I suspect, by accident or negligence due to mental distraction or excitement.”

Pressing a hand against his chin, Leonard leaned against his chair. “I’ve noticed the same thing. It is out of character for him.”

“Perhaps he finds my physical presence abhorrent.”

Leonard snorted. “You don’t actually think that.”

Spock looked down at his lap.

“Come on.” Leonard threw his hands in the air. Maybe, he realized, Spock was wearing as much of a mask as the rest of the poor human souls on this ship. Behind all that arrogant self-assured eggheadedness, Spock was just as insecure when he wondered whether the boy he thought was cute could ever think the same thing about him. He saw the sun in Jim and thought he was the dirt under the sole of his captain’s boot.

“You’re not that bad looking.”

“Your confidence, however weak, is appreciated.” Spock glared and Leonard grinned back. “However, I am hardly Jim’s type physically.”

“How do you know who Jim’s type is?” Judging by the kid’s partners in the past, pretty much everyone was Jim’s type if they caught his attention and gave just as much appreciation in return.

“Is it not obvious?”

“You think you’re a know-it-all, but really, you can’t tell a nickel from a dime. Jim hasn’t thrown himself all over you because you’ve kept your distance. Look how jumpy you get at the thought of touching anyone. I can’t even remember you holding Nyota’s hand in public when you two were dating. Jim’s more astute than you give him credit for. He knows how to read a room, and he’s read your ‘don’t touch me’ attitude like you’re an open book.”

Spock lips parted then closed. “Vulcans are not physically demonstrative in public, even with bondmates and family members.”

“So, start small with something you can handle. Brush Jim’s shoulder when you’re crowded in the turbolift. Press a hand against his shoulder when he says something endearing. How about knees? I’d love to see the expression on Jim’s face if you pressed your knee against his under the table at breakfast.”

“I will take your suggestions into consideration.” Spock glanced down at his hands again and Leonard didn’t want to know what fantasy he was conjuring. Probably something sweetly vanilla like holding Jim’s hand during one of the Enterprise’s movie nights.

“Don’t think too hard about it. If you wait too long, Jim’ll get his hands all dirty over a cheeseburger instead of you.”

Spock stared at Leonard as if he had read a steamy paragraph from a romance novel out loud.

 

*

 

The next day, after his discomforting conversation with Doctor McCoy, Spock and the captain were scheduled to meet delegates from Lani IV to initiate a dilithium trade agreement. Spock’s mind, despite his attempts to distract himself with preparations for their meeting, had been entangled in the tantalizing and horrifying prospect of laying his hands upon the captain.

Waiting before the turbolift entrance, Spock was struck still when the doors slid open to reveal the captain in his dress uniform.

“Going down?” the captain asked after reflecting Spock’s gaze for twelve point three seconds.

Blinking the aroused haze from his vision, Spock stepped into the turbolift and tried not to recall the suggestion regarding the captain and himself in the confined chamber of the ship’s elevation device which Doctor McCoy had conveyed the night before. He was aware of the erotic symbolism placed upon the turbolift by human crew members beyond its function as a transportation vessel from one deck of the ship to another. Across the navigation console, Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov had often discussed, in hushed tones, which crew members had been discovered engaged in some form of sexual congress within the turbolift during gamma shift, or after a ship wide gathering in which liquor and heightened emotions had been abundantly exchanged. Spock had criticized both the unprofessional use of the turbolift, and the officer’s conversational banter while on duty. Although the captain had agreed with Spock’s logic, the grin on his face, as he reprimanded his pilot and navigator, conveyed another meaning. 

Despite his objection against the use of the turbolift as a meeting place for crew dalliances, Spock had allowed himself to linger upon what Jim, being the tactile creature he was, might do to Spock in the privacy of the turbolift if they were in a romantic relationship. However, no matter how intently Spock attempted to manipulate his imaginative force, the captain, after a brief period of contact, always pushed Spock away, strictly reprimanded him, and demanded his immediate resignation from the Enterprise.

“Affirmative.” Spock situated himself a safe six feet from the captain, until he was reminded of the doctor’s advice about Jim Kirk and his personal definition of the term _space_.

Spock inched a step closer as the lift hummed peacefully, filling the silence.

“You look becoming in your dress uniform,” Spock stated. He had imagined saying these words in his head, but then realized he had uttered them vocally when the captain turned to stare at him.

He chuckled, obviously discomfited by Spock’s insolent observation. “Did someone tell you to say that?”

Spock’s brow creased. “Not those specific words. However, I have been informed that Terrans enjoy being complimented on their appearance.”

Jim laughed and leaned against the railing. “What a vain species we are.” He glanced back at Spock, his lips curving into an abundant smile. “Thanks though.” His eyes shifted downward then up. Spock ordered his body temperature into normalcy as the captain’s observation of his figure tempted a flush across his cheeks. “You don’t look so shabby yourself.”

Spock’s lips parted. That was not the reaction he had hoped for. Considering the physical qualities of the captain’s previous partners which Doctor McCoy had described, Spock estimated his attempt at courtship would be approximately eighty-three point six percent more likely to fail if Jim perceived Spock to be aesthetically unappealing. He glanced down at his uniform, wondering if he had obtained a crease or two during the two minute walk from his quarters to the turbolift. The lines of his pants lay flat and untainted. The carefully pressed iron crease along the front remained sharp and even. He pulled down his uniform shirt and smoothed the fabric across his abdomen.

“Have you observed a blemish upon my person that I am unaware of?”

The captain gaped and then shook his head vehemently. “No! Sorry, I didn’t actually mean you look a bit shabby. I meant you look the opposite of shabby.”

“I do not comprehend your meaning.”

Running a hand along the back of his neck, Kirk groaned. “I’m not making any sense. It’s another Terran saying. I basically meant you look great without saying you look great. Of course you do. You always look perfect.”

Spock nodded and faced the doors. “I see. Once again the nuances of Terran standard escape my understanding.” However, this was of little consequence. Jim thought he looked perfect. That he always looked perfect. An emotion escaped his physiological controls to be expressed in warmth upon his cheeks. When the turbolift doors opened, Spock allowed his shoulder to brush gently against Jim’s before he departed. At the contact, Spock felt as if a match had been struck against his arm, lighting the fabric of his shirt aflame until it spread to encompass his whole body.

Spock walked resolutely down the hallway and resisted the urge to glance behind him to assess Jim’s reaction.


	4. Chapter 4

Touching the captain had become an addiction. It began with a simple graze of the shoulder in the turbolift. Then a press against his arm when Spock had tripped, distracted by the brush of Jim’s eyelashes against his cheeks as they walked side by side through an Engineering inspection, over a piece of mechanical equipment Keenser had left on the floor. The captain had saved Spock from a crashing fall by gripping his arm firmly below the shoulder.

“Thank you,” Spock said.

Jim’s eyes widened and his hand fell away a moment later. “That’s something I haven’t heard you say before. Isn’t gratitude illogical? If I’d let you fall and hit your head, I might have lost my first officer to sick bay and been stuck doing the work of two people while you recovered.”

“Your grasp of logic is surprisingly proficient.”

“Thanks?” Jim laughed.

“And your reflexes are more than adequate,” Spock added, remembering his homework from Doctor McCoy to increase the frequency of his compliments along with initiating more physical contact. The verbal acknowledgements were slowly becoming habit. Stating facts about the captain’s superior qualities were easy to communicate. There was logic in them and a distinct lack of danger. He could say these words without fearing he would lose control of himself. Although Jim had rejected much of Spock’s compliments in a misguided expression of modesty, his rejection was flippant, tinged with lingering gazes and warm smiles as if he did not completely despise Spock’s remarks. It was difficult to reject a compliment even if one did not fully believe in its sincerity. Touch, however, was another matter. If it came suddenly and unwarranted, the body would convulse and draw back instinctively in fear of being attacked or tainted by the hand of another. If Jim was to do this, Spock did not know how he would bear the emotional trauma.

“Oh, well,” Jim brushed a hand across the back of his neck, “guess all that phaser fire we dodged on Alpha Maenali Prime paid off.” He kicked at the tool that had blocked Spock’s path. “You ok?”

“I am fine.” Jim’s eyes were diverted and Spock found a sudden surge of courage while no longer under his captain’s innocent scrutiny. For zero point seven five seconds, Spock pressed his hand lightly against Jim’s shoulder, gripped the fabric underneath, and then retreated.

For the remaining milliseconds it took for the captain’s head to snap up, Spock hoped the faint touch had not registered against the nerve endings hidden under layers of cloth and skin.

Jim stared at Spock, his face uncharacteristically unreadable. Spock stared back, unsure how to proceed. Should he apologize? Should he touch Jim again? His hand twitched against his side.

Jim, thankfully, let the question drift away unanswered and bent to pick up the tool, dropping it in a messy, overflowing box leaning against a Jefferies tube. “Let’s check out the new warp drive Scotty’s rigged.” He grinned. “How much you wanna bet it doesn’t backfire in the next week?” They continued their inspection of engineering while exchanging amicable, uncomplicated chatter. Spock was so dizzied by the experience, he forgot to file a note in his log about Lieutenant Keenser’s inability to follow safety protocol and properly preserve Starfleet property.

When Spock tucked himself into bed that night, he stared up at the ceiling and replayed the precious interaction between his hand and the captain’s shoulder repeatedly in his mind. He recalled how the captain’s shoulder was warm and firm under his grip—Jim’s daily work outs in the gym obvious by the hard strip of muscle. As he reimagined the moment, Jim’s hand reaching for him, Spock’s hand reaching for Jim in a copycat motion of what he had seen humans do when they were physically acknowledging an act of gratitude toward another, Spock began to despise the thin strip of fabric blocking his full absorbance of Jim’s heat until memory shifted into fantasy and Spock began to wonder about the feeling of Jim’s skin, smooth or rough, cool or hot under his own. The possibilities were endless. He had never touched the captain’s bare skin before, and every time he had dared to grasp at wonder he had firmly blocked the temptation behind his mental shields. That night, Spock had many dreams—dreams he should have been disturbed by when he awoke the next morning, fully rested but still distracted mentally.

During the evening following these dreams, the fingernail of Spock’s left pinky scratched against the ring finger of the captain’s right hand as they set up the chessboard for their weekly game. It was unwarranted. Spock’s hand had never even grazed Jim’s during any of the one hundred and eighty-two chess games they had played together over their acquaintance.

Jim did not even glance up at the contact, and Spock allowed himself to hope and despair that the captain had not even registered the thin contact against his blunt nerve endings.

Spock chose to forget the dreams he had the following night for the sake of his sanity—the wispy tendrils of shadowy hands entwined in a sensual dance were pushed to the back of his mind every time the captain made contact with his vision and sparked the forbidden memory.

Another afternoon, the captain sat beside him in mess hall during their lunch period. His body was approximately seated a considerable distance of three feet and eight inches from Spock’s. Spock excused himself to refill his bowl of plomeek soup even though he was no longer hungry. When he returned to the table, he placed himself only three inches from Jim. As he rose a final time, at the ending of their meal and the re-commencement of alpha shift, Spock’s knee briefly knocked against Jim’s for a fraction of one second before he removed himself to the recycling receptacle to empty the contents of his bowl.

The following afternoon, Spock stepped on the captain’s foot during an away mission on Zeta Vespae III. They had lost their boots during a trek through the K’Tani Mud Fields, the porous liquid sucking the footwear right off their feet. When Spock apologized, Jim had brushed the comment away with a shake of his head.

“No problem. It was an accident.” He flipped open his communicator and yelled Lieutenant Commander Scott’s nickname into the device and received broken static in reply. “Dammit, what’s taking him so long?”

When they were finally been beamed aboard after Mr. Scott had rerouted the transporter signal to displace the atmospheric disturbance created by the unique properties of Zeta Vespae III, Spock followed the captain down the hallway, listening to a description of how he planned to waste ship resources by indulging in an hour long hot water shower instead of the usual sonic. As he walked, his feet left muddy footprints on the floor. Spock found himself filling the captain’s trail precisely, his feet stepping into each muddy imprint left in the captain’s wake, imagining heat from each impression seeping into his skin.

The next day, Spock touched the captain twice, once on his elbow to acquire his attention when his back was turned. The second against his hand when Spock walked too close to the captain’s as they proceeded to the mess hall, his fingers striking lightly against Jim’s when their hands swung and fell in tandem.

“Sorry.” The captain grinned sheepishly and stepped to the right to increase the distance between them.

Spock did not respond. He was too distracted by a dismayed emotional response.

That night he dreamed of the captain again. In his dream he performed the act Doctor McCoy had recommended and physically assaulted the captain against the wall of the turbolift. The captain’s lips were warm and inviting for a millisecond before his hands pushed against Spock’s chest, shoving his first officer forcefully away from his person. A look of frightened disgust smeared his facial features.

The next day, Spock decided he would stop touching the captain. At breakfast, however, his shoulder came in contact with Jim as they were waiting at adjoining replicators for the production of their meals. During alpha shift, their index fingers made contact for a period of one point eight seconds as the captain passed his PADD to Spock to prevue the latest mission parameters from Starfleet Command. Jim’s eyes locked with Spock’s during the physical initiation for one point three seconds in which Spock believed his body would illogically combust.

That evening, Spock invited the captain to participate in a Suus Mahna match. The captain had suggested once that Spock teach him, as he stated, “some moves,” after witnessing Spock, “throttle two Klingons like they were made of playdough,” during an unprecedented confrontation with a Klingon warbird. Spock had, at first, agreed, however, upon consideration, suspected it would be unwise to partake in such an act as it would require their bodies to be in constant contact. When the captain had reminded Spock of his desire, Spock had formulated an excuse each time until Jim discontinued his request, apparently receiving the message Spock had delicately conveyed. Now, this evening, it was Spock conveying the request; after which the captain stared at his first officer, blinking repeatedly as if some mucous substance were obscuring his vision.

“Ok, sure. That’d be great. Thanks,” Jim exclaimed with a smile after he had cleared his vision satisfactorily.

When Jim appeared before him in the gym bare chested, wearing nothing but loose fitting workout pants, Spock’s heart beat a quick tempo against his side. This rhythm did not subside until well after their match had ended, and Spock finally sunk into slumber after staring for uncountable moments, replaying each moment of skin contact—Jim’s bare waist, back, shoulders, chest, abdomen, neck—as Spock had explained the variations of each Suus Mahna movement before allowing Jim to complete them upon his own body, until the white ceiling of his quarters shifted into the pinkish beige color of Jim’s skin.

During each physical contact Spock subconsciously initiated, the captain had never remarked negatively. The fogged sensation of Jim’s emotions under Spock’s hands during their workout had been warm and inviting, even when Spock had thrown Jim’s laughing body against the floor again and again.

 

*

 

Leonard eyed Spock where he was standing at parade rest in the middle of his office. He’d had some success, and Jim hadn’t kicked him to the curb yet. The Vulcan was finally gaining some confidence in his weak yet persistent romantic abilities.

“Ok, now that you’ve warmed the waters with some innocent compliments and hand holding, we’re moving in for the kill.”

“Vulcans are pacifists.”

“Metaphorically, Spock.” Leonard pressed down on Spock’s shoulders. “Loosen up a bit. No wonder Jim has no idea you want to marry him.”

Spock blinked rapidly, his shoulders jumping up to his ears. “Marriage is not necessary at this time. Unless the captain—” Spock’s sentence trailed off as his eyes drifted off into some fantasy land.

Leonard snapped his fingers in Spock’s face and the Vulcan jumped back into parade rest. “Ok listen, kid. Next mission. First you gave Jim the gift of your words—now you’re going to give him a physical gift.”

“What does the captain require?”

“Don’t think about what he needs. Think of something superfluous—a treat or something that will brighten up his day. A traditional gift from a lover might be flowers or candy.”

“The captain is allergic to flowers. And refined sucrose is nutritionally defunct. You have advised the captain against eating excessive quantities of the substance on approximately eighty-three occasions.”

“Yeah Jim’s a real handful after he downs a box full of chocolate.” Leonard shuddered at the memory of Valentine’s Days back when they were roommates at Starfleet Academy. Jim had always gotten loads of treats from his admirers and instead of eating them in portions like a sensible person, he had usually overdosed with midnight binges. Leonard had been kept awake as the kid, on a sugar high, had bounced back and forth between their beds and initiated one-sided pillow fights. “It’d be rude not to eat them,” Jim had complained when Leonard raged about his blood sugar levels. “They were given to me with love.” Barley missing Leonard’s head, Jim had done a back flip onto the floor.

“Would the captain not prefer an item that would be of use to him? He did express a desire for a new set of hangers for his closest.”

“I swear to God, Spock. If you give him a box of hangers as a sign of your love and affection, you’re beyond my help. You may as well become a monk and accept celibacy because you’re getting nowhere near Jim’s dick.”

Spock tilted his head. “I had considered undergoing the ritual of Kolinahr in my youth. However, the prospect of eradicating all emotion is no longer ideal.”

As he tried to imagine a less emotional Spock than the rigid figure he was addressing now, Leonard grimaced. If it was the last thing he did, Leonard was going to do his best to help Spock come to terms with his trickling passion. The thought of Spock running away to commit emotional castration if Jim rejected him flat-out was too tragic for Leonard to live with. Spock had already been through enough turmoil in the past few years alone. Both he and Jim deserved a little stable happiness.

“Forget hangers, candy, and flowers. Imagine something that will show Jim how much he means to you. Something that will show him how well you know him and how much you’ve been thinking about him. ”

Spock blinked. “That is an enormous pursuit.”

“Just think about what Jim likes. It doesn’t have to be a big flashy gift. You’re a subtle guy after all.”

Spock steepled his fingers. His brow drew inward. Spock was a smart guy, but he reacted with his head while ignoring his heart. All this emotional processing through his robotic circuits might overheat his brain.

He glanced up. “Are you positive that hangers are not a logical choice?”

“Yes!” Leonard threw his hands up in the air. Getting Jim to fall in love with this guy was going to be damn near impossible.

 

*

 

Jim stretched his arms above his head and emitted a noise that ranged somewhere between a mouse’s squeak and a lion’s roar.

“You think after three years of keeping the peace and not completely screwing up that the admiralty would give us a break.”

Spock lifted his gaze from where it had rested for an extended moment on the stretch of Jim’s shirt over his pectoral muscles. “Would you take shore leave if they offered it to you? During our last assigned break, you offered your hours to Lieutenant Sulu so he could spend an extended three days on Deep Space Two.”

Jim shrugged. “He had just gotten married. Sulu’s one of the hardest working guys on this ship. He deserved a decent honeymoon. Besides, we had to finish dealing with the Giedi VI report.” He stood and walked over to the synthesizer. “I’m grabbing a coffee—you want anything?”

“A green tea, please.”

As he leaned against the wall while the replicator brewed their drinks, Jim’s eyes closed, allowing Spock’s eyes to drift from his PADD and to lounge, undisturbed, on the captain’s face. He noted the shadows darkening his lower eyelids under the sweep of his lashes and the way the corners of his mouth tilted downwards. Creases lined his forehead, derived after prolonged hours resolving diplomatic tensions, and years steering the ship safely through red alerts. When he had first taken command of the Enterprise, the captain’s skin had been as smooth as the freshly christened hull of his new ship.

The synthesizer dinged and the captain’s eyes sprung open. His head snapped upward, and Spock’s eyes returned to his PADD.

Walking back to the desk, Jim sipped at his coffee and placed Spock’s tea in front of him. Jim’s lips puckered, his nose scrunching up into an expression that expressed dissatisfaction but which Spock found illogically endearing. “We’ve got the most advanced ship in the fleet, but our engineers still can’t program these fancy new replicators to brew a decent cup of coffee.”

The captain was fond of the dark, bitter beverage—a preference Spock did not understand since he could not abide its palatability unless it was infused with a heavy dose of milk and sweetener until it was what Jim had called, with an offended expression, ‘not real coffee.’ Perhaps, considering his dissatisfaction with the coffee delivered by the ship, the captain would appreciate fresh beans obtainable at the multicultural market during their next Yorktown docking. It would be a gift that the captain would find useful, and that would express Spock’s desire to please, as well as his attention to detail regarding Jim’s needs.

Despite his complaints, Jim gulped down half of his coffee before slamming the cup on the table and grabbing his PADD with enthusiasm. “Okay! Let’s get this report done while the caffeine’s still kicking.”

One hour and twenty-eight minutes later, the report on their eventful first contact with the humanoids of Masu VII had been completed just as the captain’s blink ratio had extended to three times its normal frequency and he was considering his third cup of coffee.

“Thank God,” the captain sighed as he turned off his PADD and sunk his head against his arms crossed on the table.

“Indeed,” Spock agreed, staring at the top of Jim’s head. His fingers twitched in his lap. “You require sleep. Another caffeinated beverage would not be advised.”

“Mmm,” the captain mumbled against his arms. “Someone’s been spending too much time with Bones.”

Spock allowed his lips to curl upward slightly while the captain’s sight was averted. “Affirmative.”

“So, how are your sessions with Bones going?”

Spock froze, blinking into Jim’s querying face. “Excuse me?”

“You’re helping him, right? With Uhura?”

“Ah,” Spock exhaled. “I am.” Although he had imparted facts on Nyota’s preferences during his meetings with the doctor—one of which had resulted in a tribble infestation when McCoy had purchased one of the creatures for Nyota’s delight while the Enterprise was transporting grain to the colony of Yarisus II—Spock realized eighty-eight point nine percent of their discussions had been focused on Spock’s courtship conundrum.

“And?” Jim laughed. “Has he made progress?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Spock answered, experiencing a brief pang of guilt. Although Nyota still regarded the doctor with amiability, her attitude toward him had not altered to that of romantic interest as far as Spock was aware.

“He’s a pretty prickly guy, but when Bones is in a good mood, he can woo the ladies no problem. Just keep reminding him to actually visit the mess once and awhile and talk to Uhura instead of hiding in his liquor cupboard every evening feeling sorry for himself. They seem to get along pretty well when I have seen them together.”

“I believe she thinks well of Doctor McCoy.” Spock nodded. “However, I fear I will not be of much assistance to the doctor in his emotional endeavors.”

Jim snorted. “Says the guy who dated the most eligible woman on this ship for three years.”

“But failed to sustain our relationship.”

Jim lifted his head and rested his chin on his forearms. “That’s a hell of a lot longer than I’ve ever managed to hold onto a relationship for.”

Spock watched Jim’s fingers beat an erratic tempo against the table. His heart followed the rhythm, an extra beat sneaking in between the strictly regulated movements of his body.

“This revelation surprises me,” Spock said, despite the warning lecture berating him in the recesses of his mind. “I cannot imagine why any partner of yours would desire to separate once a romantic attachment had been established.”

Jim gaped.

Spock stared back, unsure how to relieve the silent tension forming between them.

“Really?” Jim whispered lightly. “Well. I’m kind of a handful.”

It was a remark Doctor McCoy had mentioned on more than one occasion, but one Spock did not fully comprehend the negativity of. He knew it was not meant literally, as the captain’s figure would require more than one handful to contain, but was a colloquialism in reference to his personality. However, Spock found the breadth of the captain’s personage fascinating. It was a trait he found delight in discovering the intricacies of, like an explorer adding a new plot of space to a star chart.

“And I’ve never been good at commitment,” Jim added as Spock’s silence stretched into the unknown. “I’m sure Uhura’s mentioned a few hundred stories about my on-again off-again fling with her old roommate Gaila.”

“She mentioned you had been dating Gaila, but little else regarding the details of your romance.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “Wow, that’s nice of her. I’d assumed you’d be her soundboard, especially during those first few months on the Enterprise when we didn’t get on so well and I was still getting used to being a responsible human being.”

“Nyota rarely discussed the particulars of her emotions with me. Likely out of consideration for my cultural beliefs.” It was an aspect of their relationship that had been lacking, and which had led to its eventual disintegration due to his inability to compromise on his emotional prejudice. His feelings for Jim had been another underlying issue that even Vulcan denial could not fully suppress. “As I had functioned optimally using logic during the course of my life, I believed that containing my emotions would be healthier for our relationship. But, as proven, this hypothesis was flawed.”

“Old habits die hard.”

“And evidently not with the rapidity needed to initiate the compromise required in a successful relationship.”

“Do you want her back?”

Spock shook his head. “We are more successful as friends than we were as romantic partners. We have both, as you might say, moved on.”

Scooching his chair closer with a screech against the floor, Jim straightened slightly to lean his elbow on the table. “Are you interested in someone else?”

As he glanced quickly at Jim’s friendly, earnest gaze, his eyes shining with curiosity, Spock realized he had metaphorically cornered himself in this conversation. It was an occurrence that often happened. Fooled by Jim’s easy conversation and welcoming presence, Spock felt like a child once more whispering his secrets in the ear of his pet sehlat, comfortable in the assurance that I-Chaya did not have the required larynx construction to reveal them to another. Spock regularly slipped into unprofessionalism around the captain, dropping emotional crumbs along the trail to a crumbling gap in his carefully constructed mental walls. Spock could see it happening in his image reflected in Jim’s watchful, open gaze, and could hear it in the words reverberating without hesitation from his vocal cords. Once, years ago when their relationship was still forming into what he could comfortably term as friendship, Spock would have locked his lips against the deluge of words. Now, he allowed it to happen. And still, years later, it surprised him—that he would expose himself without hesitation to this uncommon man.

“You have a singular aptitude for encouraging me to reveal facts I do not wish to share.”

Jim laughed. “You’re the master of precision, Spock. If you really didn’t want to spill your beans, you’d keep them in a tightly sealed container.” He winked. “We’re friends after all. Friends are like emotional baggage recyclers. Dump your concerns into us and we’ll spit out some advice or sympathy, whichever you need.”

“I have spent years withholding my emotions.”

“You’re getting better at it though. Saying what’s bothering you before it overwhelms you.”

In the past, Spock had experienced offense when another had admitted that emotions, however strongly they assaulted him, could engulf him in the slightest. Now, however, he only nodded gently.

“There is someone.”

“Anyone I know?” Jim smiled.

Spock wanted to look away. He feared Jim would read the truth on his face as easily as he had noticed when his first officer was wearied or amused in the past. “We live and work on a starship that holds a small community of five hundred and thirty-eight individuals. The probability of you knowing this person is absolute.”

“So, it’s someone on the ship.”

“Affirmative.”

“You’re not going to tell me who?” Jim pouted. “You know I won’t say anything, right?”

“I do,” Spock pursed his lips together. “However, I am not ready to reveal my feelings at this time. I hope you will not be offended. The reasoning for my secrecy is in my own reluctance and insecurities, not in your ability as a confidant.”

“There’s no reason to feel nervous. You’re a real catch.”

“You are required to say that on the basis of our friendship.”

“No way,” Jim crossed his arms. “I’m sure whoever it is will be delighted they’ve caught your fancy.”

“You cannot be certain unless every crew member on this ship has expressed an attraction for me to you personally.”

Jim laughed. “Well, maybe not everyone. Bones, for one, has his eyes directed elsewhere.”

“Indeed.” Spock glanced around Jim’s quarters, reminded of the doctor’s new assignment for Spock to acquire a meaningful item to gift to the captain. “Is there a particular object or consumable you either require or desire with an unquenchable need?”

“What?” Jim frowned. “Changing the subject already?”

Spock blinked. “In my duty as first officer, I am assessing whether you have everything you need for your mental and physical health. A contented captain equals an efficiently run ship.”

“I’m fine, Spock.” Jim waved a hand negligently in the space between them. The frown across his brow furrowed deeper. “I have everything I need.”

“I see.” Spock pressed a hand to his chin as he glanced once more around Jim’s quarters as if he could find a glaring hole on one of the captain’s cupboards or shelves that would answer his query more efficiently.

Jim slumped against the table once more and poked his empty coffee mug distractedly. A sunken look worried his facial expression.

“You are wearied.” Spock stood. “I will leave you to your evening repose. Good night.”

Jim glanced up briefly as he retreated. “’Night, Spock,” he mumbled, leaning his forehead back down against his arms. If he slept with his head against the table, Spock predicted a ninety-eight point two percent likelihood, considering the frequency of other such occurrences, that the captain would complain about a sore neck or back tomorrow morning.

Returning to the captain’s side, Spock pressed a hand briefly against his shoulder. When the muscles hidden beneath his shirt twitched at the contact, Spock pulled away.

“You will fall asleep at your desk if you remain in this state of repose.”

Jim’s cheek returned to his forearm, his eyes blinking up lazily. “Just leave me. Haven’t got the energy to move.”

“Your bed is five point three meters from where you are currently sitting.” He held out a hand. “Do you require assistance?”

Laughing weakly, Jim pulled himself to his feet. “I’m just being a brat.” He stared at Spock’s hand momentarily before he gained a sudden burst of energy and ran toward his bed, flinging himself onto the mattress.

“You should remove your shoes,” Spock berated after Jim lay silently prone for thirty-two seconds. When there was no further answer other than a mumbled complaint, Spock stepped up to the bed and carefully pulled off Jim’s boots one by one, resting them neatly on the floor.

Light snoring began to issue from the captain’s person as Spock spent a few countless minutes observing his lax body and admiring the shade of his hair against the white pillow case. Imagining the excuses he would have to provide if the captain discovered his first officer standing stoically beside his bed when he woke in the morning, Spock drew his focus away from the appealing sight. As he turned to hastily retreat before his lapse in judgment was discovered, his eyes fell upon a book laying on the bedside table.

It was a creased copy of a paperback titled _David Copperfield_ , a book written by a Terran novelist in the nineteenth century whom Jim had expressed an admiration for on repeated occasions. Spock had noted Jim’s collection of books lined on a shelf beside his desk. When Spock had questioned him about the origins of these rare items, Jim had eagerly described the adventures he had experienced hunting down print books from each of his favorite authors. The only book he was missing from his Dickens’ collection, he had lamented, was _A Tale of Two Cities_.

This moment, Spock believed, was what a human may call an epiphany.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Where Spock would find a copy of a rare paperback book in the middle of uncharted space would be a more difficult discovery than the formation of his epiphany. Doctor McCoy voiced as much.

“Just give him some hypo-allergenic flowers. You’ll never find that book. Jim’s been looking for years.”

“It is an item the captain both desires and which would convey significant meaning.”

“You stubborn—” Spock glared at the doctor. McCoy lifted his glass and mumbled his offensive remarks into his liquor. “How about a cactus? No pollen and even Jim can keep one of those alive. Sulu’s got a hoard of them in the botanical garden that you could bribe off of him. It’ll signify how, under your prickly skin, an affluent love exists—you know, ‘cause cacti hoard water, right? Damn,” Leonard sipped at his drink again, “that was practically poetic.”

“You have ingested an excessive amount of your inebriating substance,” Spock rebuked. “I will not giving the captain a cactus as a sign of my devotion.” The doctor was hardly useful in this state. His propensity to rely on alcoholic beverages, Spock assumed, was caused by McCoy’s inability to contain his emotions. Tonight, his habit was aggravated by a remark he had overhead Nyota share with Nurse Chapel that afternoon about the attractive qualities of a Lieutenant Commander on board the USS Claymore. She had been working with him to translate the language of the recently discovered species on Arderus Prime who used tail twitches rather than vocal enunciations. Spock had spent most of the time allocated to their meeting attempting to calm McCoy’s distress by assuring him that Nyota merely respected the Lieutenant Commander’s linguistic abilities and was indifferent to his physical appearance. 

“Fine. If some cute ensign with an armful of cactuses snatches Jim up while you’re twiddling your thumbs in second-hand bookstores across the alpha quadrant, don’t blame me.”

“Cacti,” Spock corrected.

McCoy raised the middle finger of his right hand and refilled his drink.

It took a scouring search of several second hand brokers and ethically dubious marketing websites to find a copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ , in its last paper reprint published in the year two thousand and eighty-four, that was in a presentable condition and not an illegal reproduction. He had requested delivery of the item to a transport station in Yorktown. However, since the Enterprise’s next scheduled docking was three months away, McCoy’s threat became a looming possibility as Spock began observing the unseemly actions of the captain’s new yeoman—assigned to the ship during a layover on Starbase Four. When Jim shifted uncomfortably in the center chair, effects likely sustained during a more vigorous round of Suus Mahna that morning, Yeoman Barrick offered to give him a backrub after delivering a steaming cup of coffee the captain had not requested but gratefully received.

“You okay?” Nyota leaned over from the communications station. “You look like you’re about to throttle the captain.”

Spock turned in his seat and forced the calculations on his screen into focus. “I am fine,” he answered without looking at Nyota.

“Looks like you have a rival in love,” McCoy needled Spock a week later. “And one who gives amazing shoulder massages if Jim’s rave opinion means anything.”

“The captain spoke to you about Yeoman Barrick?”

“Well,” Leonard’s voice lengthened as he gave Spock an appraising look, “I wouldn’t get into too much of a huff over it. Jim’s infatuations come and go quicker than spring rain.”

McCoy’s rough attempt at placation did little to ease Spock’s growing concerns.

“Are you satisfied with your new yeoman?” Spock asked the captain as he yawned over his breakfast the next morning. McCoy gave him a strict look. Spock tucked his feet under the bench lest he receive another physical declaration of the doctor’s disapproval.

“Sure, he’s great. He gets his work in on time.” Jim laughed and raised his coffee mug. “And he keeps me fueled with coffee before I even have to ask. No complaints here.”

Spock frowned. “Are you sure you would not prefer a more accomplished individual? Our scheduled supply stop at Yorktown will allow us to make any personnel changes required. Another opportunity is not likely to arise for several months.”

“Didn’t I just say I like him?” The captain grimaced. “Why are you bothered by him? Has he said something to you? Done anything unprofessional?”

“He has been physically familiar with you on the bridge. He has also distracted you from your duties with aside comments that I assume are meant to be humorous by your reaction, but are not related to his assigned tasks. This has led me to believe that Barrick is not the most ideal yeoman for the captain of Starfleet’s flagship.”

The captain straightened in his seat, suddenly fully awake. “You think I'm being unprofessional.”

“I was not accusing you, Captain, but Yeoman Barrick,” Spock answered softly, shocked by the sudden shift in Jim’s tone.

“But you are. You used to do this all the time when we first started working together. I am the captain of this ship.” Jim’s tone shifted into a harsh imitation of Spock’s. “I must control every crew member down to who sneezes when.”

“That was not my meaning—”

“Well, sorry for actually wanting to communicate with a subordinate beyond a yes sir, aye sir,” Jim continued, his logic varying beyond comprehension. “It can be lonely sometimes, being the captain of this ship. And a little friendly conversation between a captain and his crew never harmed anyone.”

McCoy's glance shifted between the two of them as they stared at each other in silence. “Jim, Spock really didn't mean—”

“Oh?” the captain's fury shifted like a swinging pendulum to strike at the doctor. “And since when do you stand up for Spock? You two,” he glared briefly at Spock and then stood, his knees bashing against the table in his haste. “Never mind.” He shook his head. “This is ridiculous. I'm heading to the bridge.” He walked away with a limp, forgetting his coffee cup.

McCoy rested a hand on Spock's forearm as he began to stand, his eyes desperately following the Jim’s back. “Leave him. He needs to let off whatever steam he's built up.” He glared at Spock. “And you need to get over this stupid jealously. You may have just screwed yourself over with that outburst.”

“It was not an outburst,” Spock bristled.

“Keep telling yourself that while Jim lets Yeoman Barrick lick his wounds.”

Spock seethed with regret. He had, once again, allowed his emotions to control him.

The captain avoided him during the following weeks. Spock tried not to worry about who he was spending his evening meals and chess games with instead.

Jim approached him for the first time outside their duty shifts since Spock’s outburst when they finally arrived at Yorktown. “Hey,” Jim said, as the crew filed out of the hatch, his face decorated with a cautious smile. “We should talk. Do you wanna get lunch?”

“I have a matter I must attend to,” Spock replied, almost knocking over Yeoman Barrick as he left the docking port and walked at a swift yet regulated pace toward the station’s transportation center. He did not look back. The captain would likely invite his yeoman for lunch instead, but a meal could not reverse Spock’s unruly behavior toward Jim, nor properly express his feelings in a meaningful way. Nor could he risk inflicting further distress upon Jim if Spock’s heightened emotions caused another verbal eruption. The object waiting for him at Yorktown’s transportation center, however, would provide Jim with, at the very least, a simple pleasure.

“I have a package to retrieve,” Spock announced, his breath issuing in large desperate gulps, to the transportation attendant standing dead-faced behind the counter. Spock’s body felt as if it had been running a marathon even though the last eight point three minutes had been spent in stillness as he stood in the center’s profusely long line to wait for assistance.

“Identification, please,” the attendant droned, and Spock placed his Starfleet ID on the counter before the request was fully verbalized.

Spock’s foot tapped restlessly against the floor as the attendant departed at a less than efficient pace to retrieve his package from the back room. In the two point nine minutes it took for the man to return, Spock envisioned the captain’s response when Spock finally delivered the gift.

 _Spock,_ Jim would say as he gripped the present lovingly. _Does this mean what I think it means?_

 _Yes, Captain_. Spock would lower his head in an expression of modesty.

Noticing an error, Spock re-imagined his fantasy. Rank would be too impersonal in this emotional exchange.

 _Yes, Jim_ , he corrected, _it does_. _If it would be convenient, I suggest we initiate a marriage bond between our persons when we are next able to visit New Vulcan._

 _Oh, Spock._ Jim would raise the book to his chest, and, his eyes full of emotion, take Spock’s hand.

“Please sign here.”

Jolted from his illogical daydream, Spock clenched his teeth, blinking as he returned to the material world. He signed the PADD the attendant proffered and took the square package, removing himself from the transportation center’s premises. Illogical. Completely, and absolutely illogical. Requesting that the captain bond with Spock immediately after he professed his feelings would be an error—one McCoy would threaten bodily harm over if Spock admitted the contents of his daydream out loud during their next weekly. McCoy had admitted Jim was wary of commitment, a looming expectancy that had shortened the length of his previous romantic attachments. And humans generally dated for several years before agreeing to legally marry. They did not have the luxury of the psychic connections Vulcans employed during courtship and therefore required time to become familiar with one another’s proclivities before deciding if they were compatible.

He stared down at the package in his hands. Should he wrap it like a human gift? Considering the importance of its meaning, Spock believed it would be wise. However, he did not want the gift to appear overtly demanding either.

Standing frozen in his uncertainty, Spock looked about, as if the ample amount of pedestrians crossing the pathways around him, or the vehicles buzzing over his head, or the storefronts lining the street could answer his packaging predicament.

McCoy. McCoy had suggested Spock give a present to Jim. Therefore, he would know the proper presentation protocol for this particular circumstance. Pulling out his communicator, Spock hailed the doctor.

“McCoy, here. Better be good,” the doctor’s voice buzzed from the speaker. It was surrounded by the din of voices in the background.

“Where are you?” Spock demanded. “I require your assistance.”

“What am I? Your god damn servant?” His growling voice drifted into unintelligibility as a female voice blended with his.

“I’m at the Wildwing Café,” McCoy added a moment later. “It’s a restaurant just outside the dock.”

Spock closed his communicator and proceeded to the coordinates provided.

 

*

 

When Spock arrived at the Wildwing Café which proved to be an establishment serving food and beverages populated by mostly individuals in Starfleet uniforms, a quick survey of the room found McCoy seated at a table near the window with Nyota.

Realizing he had interrupted a private dalliance, Spock experienced momentary regret. Before he could turn and remove himself from the establishment, Nyota caught his eye and waved him over. The doctor turned. His fierce glare was like a visual slap across the face.

“I apologize for interrupting,” Spock said as he arrived at the table. “I did not know you were having dinner.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Nyota smiled. “You okay? Len said you sounded pretty agitated.”

McCoy continued to glare at him. Spock took a step back.

“My matter is not urgent. It can wait until the conclusion of your meal.”

“Sit down, Spock,” McCoy snapped, “before you bury yourself in a hole.”

“Bury?” Spock blinked as he sat in a free chair beside the table. “I am not digging a hole. I would require a shovel to do so.”

Nyota burst into laughter as McCoy lowered his head in his hands.

“If you two ever quit Starfleet, you should become a comedy duo. You’d send the whole Federation into hysterics.”

Spock and McCoy stared at each other. Fury was etched into the creases along the doctor’s face, his arms bundled tightly against his chest.

“I do not believe such an endeavor would provide a mutually satisfying working relationship.”

“I’d rather be stuck in space for another five years,” Leonard groaned. His tone lightened as his gaze settled on Nyota. “At least I’d have you to brighten the darkness.”

“You flatterer,” Nyota chastised though the warm smile spread across her face belied her words. Her eyes moved to Spock after an extended moment admiring the fascinating variations of McCoy’s features from enraged to agreeable. “So what’s this not-so urgent matter of yours?”

As he watched the couple, Spock wondered how he could efficiently remove himself from this scene without causing suspicion.

“Come on, Spock, this is perfect timing.” Nyota grinned. “Now you can get advice from both of us. What is it?”

“I have a gift for,” Spock hesitated, placing his package carefully on the table, “someone. However, I am not sure whether to present it to this individual as is, or wrap it in decorative paper.”

“Is it a birthday present?” Nyota asked.

“Negative.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” McCoy barked. “Just give it to him. He’s been waiting long enough.”

“He?” Nyota raised her eyebrows as Spock attempted to contain the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“It’s a thank you gift,” McCoy added hurriedly just as Spock expected his secret to be outed by his confidant, “for Jim. To thank him—obviously—for uh—for helping with a project they’ve been working on together. Spock asked me for advice on what to get him. You know,” McCoy shrugged, “since I know what Jim likes.”

“Really?” Nyota’s eyes widened. “That’s oddly considerate of you, Spock. Giving someone a gift for doing their job, even if it’s outside the captain’s usual duties.”

“I am attempting to improve my social skills in regard to our Terran crewmates.”

Nyota stared long and hard as Spock sat perfectly postured in his seat, hands loosely clasped in his lap, attempting to appear unmoved by her close observation.

“It’s been a real doozy trying to cure this one,” McCoy jabbed a finger in Spock’s direction, “of his logic. I mean, he wanted to give Jim clothes hangers, of all things.”

Nyota laughed. “I’m sure they’d be really useful.”

“That is what I stated to the doctor.”

Nyota glanced at her comm. “Sorry, boys. I have to head out. I’m meeting Christine for dancing at Uvevs tonight and I need to find something in my closet that isn’t a Starfleet uniform.” She stood. “See you later. Call me, Len. Let’s do this again before the Enterprise leaves.” She smiled as McCoy gave his assurances.

“Perfect fucking timing,” McCoy hissed once Nyota had left. “A gift-wrapping emergency? You really are hopeless.”

“I do apologize. If I had known Nyota was with you—”

“Dammit, and I forgot to give her these.” McCoy dropped a box on the table.

“Swiss chocolates.”

“Yeah,” McCoy sighed. “The ones you said are her favorite. Christine had a few boxes stashed away. I had to bribe her with a vintage bottle of bourbon.” He laughed. “Didn’t think it was her type of poison. Dammit, Spock.” He thumped a hand on the table, clattering the knife leaning against his empty plate. “Your gift better work, or else we’ll both be sad and alone forever.”

Spock gripped the book’s packaging. “I will not allow this mission to fail.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Just give Jim that cursed book before some asshole gets into his pants first and wastes all the time I’ve spent worrying about your shitty love life.”

“You lied. To Nyota about the gift.”

“Yeah, well,” McCoy glanced at Spock from his peripheral vision and leaned his chin on his palm. “I assumed you weren’t ready to out yourself. And Vulcans don’t like to lie, right?”

Spock stared at McCoy.

“Oh, don’t get all sentimental on me now.” McCoy grimaced.

“You stated a falsehood for my benefit.”

“It’s nothing, just a little white lie. It’ll all come out in the end when you fall at Jim’s feet in front of the whole crew.”

Spock balked. “It that an act I should commit in order for the captain to accept me as a paramour?”

“No. Don’t do that.” McCoy pressed a hand against his forehead.

“But you just said—”

The doctor waved at a passing waiter. “Bill, please!”

 

*

 

Spock was relieved as each day of their shore leave on Yorktown passed without a direct opportunity to present his gift to the captain. In fact, Spock was ashamed to admit that he had spent most of his week working within his cabin or in the science labs on the Enterprise to better reduce the likelihood of turning a corner on a Yorktown street and finding himself face to face with the captain. If he allowed himself to imagine the scenario, Spock always pictured the captain arm in arm with his new “friend,” Yeoman Barrick.

“You’re a coward,” McCoy’s voice audibly sneered over the speaker of his communicator when, on a lapse of judgement, Spock answered the hail without confirming who the source was. “Jim keeps asking me if I’ve seen you. He thinks you hate him.”

“I do not hate him,” Spock answered, stating the obvious. If he hated the captain, why were ninety-nine point four percent of his thoughts occupied with pleasing images of Jim?

“Then tell him so,” the doctor snapped. “I keep telling Jim you’re in love with him but he doesn’t believe me.”

Spock’s communicator audibly snapped as his hand clutched the casing. “You revealed my feelings for the captain without my consent?”

“I’m kidding, good God,” McCoy laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so pissed.”

“I am not pissed.”

“But I can’t promise you I won’t take matters into my own hands if you don’t get off your hindquarters, apologize to Jim, and give him that damn book gathering dust in your quarters.”

“If you break my confidence, I will be forced to do the same within Nyota’s hearing.”

“You slimy, two faced—” McCoy effused, “isn’t revenge some kinda Vulcan taboo?”

If it was, Spock had already broken whatever Vulcan taboo McCoy was alluding to by harboring fearful emotions toward an outdated paper book and his captain who had only shown the utmost kindness to him in the past.

“Hey! You green-blooded—”

“There is no need for xenophobic comments, Doctor. I am ending this communication.” Spock shut his communicator in the middle of another one of McCoy’s verbal tirades.

 

*

 

During the evening of their first day back in space, as the Enterprise’s warp core thrummed soundlessly under his feet, Spock found himself standing outside the door of the captain’s quarters, _A Tale of Two Cities_ wrapped simply and undecorated, as McCoy advised.

The captain was currently situated somewhere in the room behind this door. Spock knew this because he witnessed the captain unlock the door with a press of his thumbprint to the keypad and enter his cabin. After a game of poker with Lieutenants Sulu, Ensign Chekov, and Yeoman Barrick, Jim had left the recreation room at 20:19. Yeoman Barrick had asked the captain whether he wanted further company by inviting himself for a “nightcap” in Jim’s quarters. The captain had declined with an apology, professing his weariness, and Spock had felt his heart beat against the joy that coursed through his neural pathways.

Before leaving the recreation room, Jim had glanced toward Spock where he was sitting in conversation with Nyota, and smiled before turning to leave. Spock, with both the friendly expression from his captain and the dismissal of Yeoman Barrick to fuel his dampened courage, had approached Jim’s quarters three point eight minutes later.

Inhaling, Spock lifted his hand to the buzzer outside the captain’s cabin, his forefinger hesitating two point four centimeters from the device’s surface. Exhaling, Spock released his hand and it dropped back to his side.

McCoy had accused Spock of obsessively evaluating the “what-ifs” in regard to Jim’s response toward the gift. Spock had imagined various negative reactions the captain might issue, all of which delayed him, leaving the book abandoned on his bedside table to hauntingly remind him of his cowardice.

There was a sound of movement beyond the door, and Spock darted instinctively away, the baser instincts of flight triggered by his illogical fear of being discovered before he was prepared for this encounter with Jim. After five point eight seconds of silence, the footfall dissipated and Spock released the breath he had been holding.

Questions rushed through his mind—possible responses and scenarios upon the presentation of the gift replayed through his mind like a farcical play stuck in a temporal anomaly. Yes, Jim would likely accept the gift with profusions of joy, as Spock hoped. However, the selfish emotions he perceived within himself at Jim’s imagined positive response gave Spock pause. If he truly cared for Jim, should he not wish to provide the captain with happiness without an expectation of affection as a reward? It had not been his habit in the past to assist Jim with the expectation of touch, or a compliment in return. He had only performed these actions because he knew they would provide relief when his captain was over-worked, or because they would bring a smile to Jim’s face.

Glancing once more at the package clutched within his white-knuckled fingers, Spock placed it in front of the captain’s door, rang the buzzer and then retreated quickly into his adjacent quarters.

 

*

 

Spock was finishing his breakfast when Jim bounded up to the table. Doctor McCoy, who was dozing over a steaming mug of coffee and a half-eaten plate of eggs across the table, lifted his head with sudden interest.

“Who left this outside my door?” Jim waved the copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ before them. “Is it from one of you?”

“Not me,” McCoy grumbled. There was a whack against Spock’s calf. Judging by the intense focus in his eyes, the doctor’s aggression was once again making itself known physically.

Spock’s lips parted, words freezing on his tongue despite the warmth in Jim’s eyes upon him.

“I do not purchase anonymous gifts for commanding officers with no reasoning.”

“Oh.” Jim glanced down at the book, his hand running slowly down its cover. “No one else knows about my Dickens obsession. I wonder who it was.”

“Perhaps someone who has entered your quarters and seen your collection of paperbacks,” Spock added, his hyperactive brain pushing him further into a corner.

At that imperfect moment, Yeoman Barrick appeared behind the captain and whacked him on the back. “Morning, Jim!” he declared.

Spock frowned. The Yeoman often failed to properly use the captain’s rank when addressing him. He had taken up the practice of initiating friendly contact, similar to what Jim shared between Terran crewmembers such as McCoy and Sulu, which signaled a friendship had formed between them.

“Hey,” Jim grinned, turning away to address the yeoman. Spock’s frown deepened. “You don’t know anything about this, do you, Eric?” Jim lifted the book. “Someone left it outside my door last night. No tag, no note, no nothing.”

The yeoman glanced from the book to Jim’s glowing face. “If it was left anonymously, it wouldn’t be right to release the name of the giver.” He laughed lightly and Jim immediately grinned, comprehension animating his features.

“That sneaky bastard,” McCoy hissed under his breath.

“Well, if it is you, thanks. You don’t know how long I’ve been searching for a copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_.”

“I know how fond you are of literature.”

“Where did you even find it?”

Yeoman Barrick shrugged. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Are you nuts?” McCoy whispered as Jim wandered off side by side with Yeoman Barrick, spiritedly expressing his gratitude. He flipped the pages of the book and pressed his nose against the spine as if he could not believe the object was real and required sensory input to confirm its existence. “That little dick is going to take credit for all you work.”

“Acquiring the book was no difficulty.”

“Tell that to your wallet and the hours you wasted haggling online.”

“I am glad the captain is pleased with his gift.” Spock watched Jim’s retreat, delighting in how he clutched the book against his chest.

“You love sick fool!” McCoy banged a fist on the table.

“Please lower your voice,” Spock insisted as crew members sitting nearby glanced over.

“Is your brain broken? Even you gotta see the illogic in letting Jim think Yeoman Ass-Wipe gave him that book. He’ll get all the loving and you’ll get nothing.”

“The captain’s pleasure is all I require.”

“Even a robot like you needs a little attention once in a while.”

“I pondered over my decision, and concluded that leaving the book anonymously would be the most logical expression of my affection for Jim.”

“I can’t believe this.” McCoy’s head dropped into his hands as he shook it veraciously. “I mean I can, because it’s you, but I can’t.”

“Are you unwell?”

McCoy’s head snapped up again. “I thought you wanted to get together with Jim?”

“I do. But not via bribery.”

“So, do you think giving Nyota a box of chocolates is bribery? You think I’d throw a fit if she rejected me and the gift?”

Spock blinked. “Although you are an emotional creature, I do not expect you would.”

There was a moment of silence between them as Spock stared into his cup of green tea and McCoy pushed his eggs around his plate with a fork.

“You finally gave Nyota the chocolates.”

“Yeah, finally,” McCoy grunted.

“She enjoyed them?”

“You did say they were her favorite.” McCoy’s lips twitched.

“Perhaps I should have chosen a more traditionally romantic gift. The book may have been,” Spock paused, “too personal.”

McCoy frowned. “Wasn’t that the goddamn point?”

“In theory. However, I did not possess the emotional stamina to execute my strategy to a fruitful conclusion.”

“Your heart was in the right place.”

Spock pressed a hand to his side. “Indeed. It is still in the left side of my abdomen below my rib cage.”

McCoy’s lips twitched. “Damn your Vulcan humor and superhuman brain to hell. You’ve overthought yourself into a real pickle this time. But don’t worry—we’re gonna fix this.”

Spock had his misgivings. He was beginning to believe his desire of becoming romantically involved with Jim would remain a foolish fantasy. But the determined expression on McCoy’s face, and the almost maniacal look in his eyes gave Spock a strange, illogical, sense of hope that all was not yet lost.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Leonard had never understood his ex-wife’s attachment to the romance novels she had devoured, sometimes finishing one in a single day on a lazy weekend. She had described the plots to him: star-crossed lovers wrapped up in endless twists of disaster; forces of nature and social regulations that separated them; and, in several cases, temporal anomalies that kept them from living happily ever after until the very last page. “Just one more chapter,” she’d say when Leonard complained about the lamp light on her side of the bed keeping him awake. Now, Leonard was finally beginning to understand as he caught himself biting his nails again—a habit he thought he’d kicked years ago. Watching Spock pretend not to be fazed by the sight of Jim walking side-by-side with Yeoman Barrick as they entered the rec room, the mess hall, the bridge, the gym, over and over again as if the men were attached to the hip, was pushing Leonard closer to the brink of insanity. If this jealous little cliff-hanger of Spock’s wasn’t resolved in the next chapter, Leonard would stuff him into the back of his closet like he’d done with a stack of Jocelyn’s paperbacks after he’d tripped over a pile cluttered by their bed one morning.

Leonard had allowed Spock to take the reins of his romance for too long. It was time for some delicate intervention.

“Invite Spock,” he demanded.

“What?” Jim laughed, glancing at Leonard in the mirror from where he was obsessively preening his hair in the gym’s changing room.

“The guy needs to blow off some steam.” And his oblivious captain’s balls—literally. Three hundred pages into Spock’s overwritten romance, and there still hadn’t been a sex scene. If Leonard wasn’t such a completionist, he’d have deleted this book from his PADD ages ago.

“He has been acting weird lately.” Shaking his head, Jim turned to face him. “But what makes you think going to a Rigellean club is Spock’s thing? All the noise and people jammed together. It’s more likely to stress him out.”

Leonard frowned. He didn’t know what to make of Jim’s relationship with Spock. To have noticed something like Spock’s touch sensitivity along with his likes and dislikes, Jim had obviously been paying attention to his friend. Sure, they worked closely together as captain and first officer, but it was a little out of character for Jim to be overly considerate. He had practically dragged Leonard to every shitty bar within walking distance of Starfleet Academy when they were roommates, even when Leonard had just gotten off a double shift at the Academy’s med clinic and was too bone-dead tired to put up a fight. “You deserve some fun!” Jim had assured him each time, promising to find him a pretty lady to warm his bed. “I’m an awesome wingman.”

“Trust me. If you invite him, he’ll want to come.”

“I guess you’d know better than me.” Jim fiddled with his collar even though it was perfectly straight.  “You two have been acting really buddy-buddy lately—eating meals together, having secret meetings. Since when are you two best friends?”

“Don’t know if I’d call us that. But yeah, he’s alright.” Leonard grinned, remembering Spock’s faltering attempts at emotional responses during their Lonely Hearts Club meetings, or the faint blush he would get whenever he talked about Jim. Admitting to romantic feelings with someone as vivacious as Jim had really added a layer of color to the Vulcan.

“So, he’s still helping you out.” Jim glanced at Leonard in the mirror again. “With Uhura? He’s giving you good advice?”

“Oh yeah.” Leonard leaned forward to pull on his boots. “Hate to admit it, but you were right, kid. Having a guy with an eidetic memory who can list every time his ex-girlfriend got peeved off, or found something interesting, cute, funny, or gross is really helpful. With all this knowledge, I still haven’t managed to scare her off yet.”

“As if you would. You don’t give yourself enough credit. I thought Ambassador Jaenke was going to jump you from across the table at the delegation last week.”

“You’re confusing yourself with me,” Leonard grumbled.

“What?” Jim laughed and turned around. “Are you blind?”

Blind with love, maybe. Leonard had spent the whole night admiring Nyota. Even if the Ambassador had been interested in an old doctor rather than the sunbeam that was Jim Kirk, Leonard wouldn’t have noticed.

“Besides, now that I’m captain, even if anyone on this ship fell for me, it’s not like I can act on those feelings. And that’s why,” he brushed down his uniform over his hips, “I have to find my action elsewhere. If I leave the bar alone tomorrow night, throw me out the airlock and put me out of my misery.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding someone to spend the evening with,” he drawled, determined that person would be Spock. Leonard planned to hand him over on a silver platter tomorrow night if Jim would only open his eyes a little wider and notice what was standing as stiff as a board right in front of him.

“So, have you told Uhura you _like_ like her, yet?” Jim snorted.

“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Have you?” Jim needled.

“Like I said, I don’t want to scare her off. I’m testing the waters first and taking it slow.”

“Just ask her out. She’ll say yes. You two have a lot of chemistry.”

“Oh yeah, and what if she says no? It’s not like I’ll never see her again and be able to forget the humiliation of another rejection. Thanks to you, we’re all stuck on this rig for another two years.”

Jim threw his head back with a groan. “You’re not asking her to marry you, just out on a date. She’s a grown up. She’s not about to shun you for life if you politely ask her out to dinner.”

“You’re starting to sound like Spock.”

Jim straightened, and folded his hands neatly against his back. “Your actions are illogical, Doctor. If you wish to court Lieutenant Uhura, you must declare your intentions verbally rather than playing these incessant games that will lead to misunderstandings and confusion.”

“Stop it,” Bones cringed. “I can barely handle one Spock on this ship.”

“You really think he’ll want to come clubbing?”

“Yeah, I do. Just the other day, he was telling me how much he wanted to spend more time with you.”

Jim gave him a look. “What are you up to?”

“I’m not joking. He talks about you a lot. It’s really annoying.”

“Spock talks about me?” Jim frowned. “To you?”

“Yeah, and it’s surprisingly not all bad stuff.”

“This is news.” Jim ran a hand through his hair. “He’s kind of a workaholic. I mean, it took me a while to even convince him to leave the labs for our weekly chess games.”

Leonard shrugged. Jim was a pretty astute guy, and hinting at Spock’s interest without completely outing his feelings would be a challenge. Spock needed time and an inkling of hope to grasp onto before he could finally express them himself.

“He’s just shy. That’s why he needs someone more outgoing to pull him out of his shell.”

“Are you sure about that? Spock’s been laying the flattery on pretty thick lately. He actually called me intelligent the other day without any prompting. When I questioned him about it, he said he just wanted me to know. I thought I was going to pass out from shock.”

“Wow,” Leonard faked surprise, “so the Vulcan has a heart, after all.”

Jim stuck out his tongue. “Of course he does. He just doesn’t usually wear it on his sleeve like us pesky humans. But three years stuck in space with a mostly human crew might be getting to him.” Jim frowned. “I wonder if it bothers him? I push his buttons a little too hard sometimes.”

Leonard snickered. “Spock likes it when you push his buttons.”

Jim gaped. “He told you that, too?”

“Uh,” Leonard stuttered, “more or less. Something about how he wants to embrace his human half,” he lied, “and that you’re helping him with that. Which is why you should invite him clubbing. It’ll be a real experience for him. An experience in _fun_.”

“Well,” Jim looked skeptical, “I’ll give it a try. Sounds like you’ve gained his confidence. I’m a little jealous.” He laughed. “He never told me he wanted to get in touch with his human heritage. I mean, if he’s worrying about it, I want to be there for him. I don’t want him to feel like he has to hold back around me just because I’m his captain.”

“It’s fine.” Leonard slapped Jim on the back. “He’s calling you Jim and waxing poetic about how wonderful you are to the whole bridge. Buy him a few drinks tonight and I’m sure you two will have a real heart to heart.”

“Yeah, ok.” Jim grinned, throwing an arm around Leonard’s shoulder. “We’ll show him a good time.”

_Not if I can help it_ , Leonard thought. One person and one person only had better be showing Spock a good time tomorrow night or Leonard was going to eat his hat.

 

*

 

Leonard stared from the top of Spock’s shiny black domed head to the toes of his regulation uniform boots. He sighed long and deep.

“At least you’re not completely hopeless. Jim’s been attracted to non-humans before that looked worse than you.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Such a broad spectrum no doubt means that Jim will not be able to resist me.”

Leonard glared at him. Such a blunt remark said with that robot voice of his—it always put Leonard off his guard. “Maybe we should doll you up a bit. Show some skin.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you like Rigellean clubs?”

“I do not know. I have never been to one.”

“Well, Jim’s going to invite you to one tonight and you’re gonna say yes.”

“How do you know this?”

“I urged him in the right direction. Which will be into your arms on a raging dance floor. Trust me. I’m your wingman. It’s my job.”

“You do not possess wings, Doctor. You are not an avian creature.”

Leonard stood. “Take me to your quarters. I want to see what’s in your closest. If you wear your uniform to a club, I swear, I’ll completely disown you as my student.”

 

*

 

“Good God, man! “ Leonard tossed another black cloak onto the floor. “Your closest looks like a funeral parlor. Don’t you have anything with a bit of color?”

“I prefer civilian wear that is functional rather than simply decorative.”

“Of course you fucking do.” Leonard dumped an armful of clothes onto the floor with an inner scream of rage. “And that’s why you’re still single.”

“Are you going to assist me in my choice of clothing for this evening or unnecessarily empty the contents of my closet on to the floor?”

“I will if I can’t find any light in this dark, dreary tunnel.” He pushed a row of science uniforms out of his way as he squinted into the back of the closest.

“You believe the captain will reject my romantic advances solely based on the color and shape of my outerwear when he observes me in the same uniform every day?”

“No,” Leonard grunted as he flipped through a rack of some robe dress things that hung to the floor in heavy drapes of fabric. “But wearing something he doesn’t expect—shocking him with a flash of color on your bland colorless body will grab his attention and really make an impression.”

If Leonard squinted really hard and pressed the limits of his imagination, he figured Spock was good looking with his tall frame and sharp features. He might even be what Jim would describe as, “Hotter than hot,” if Leonard could shape Spock’s bowl cut into some semblance of _cool_ , and get him out of his uniform.

 “Ah ha!” Leonard exclaimed pulling out a sheath of fabric from a hanger. He held it up in front of Spock. “Now, this is interesting.”

“It is a set of Vulcan robes. Casual civilian wear,” Spock explained.

“Put it on.” Leonard tossed the robes into Spock’s arms. “I wanna see how it looks.”

“Very well,” Spock acquiesced for once without argument and retreated into the head. A few minutes later he emerged looking like a whole other person.

“Well I’ll be dammed,” Leonard whistled. “You actually look decent.”

“I am unsure whether I should be flattered or offended by that comment.”

Leonard stepped closer to survey the goods. The fabric draped along Spock’s angles creating a dark dignified frame. The gold embellishments along the hems and closures shone like sunlight pricking through shadows. He looked like the dark, silent type—a type Jim had been attracted to before. Leonard could imagine Spock approaching Jim in a crowded bar, demanding space with a single ominous look.

“It covers a more skin than I’d like, but you’ll stand out among the usual clientele. Jim’s always attracted to what’s different. Knowing Rigellian clubs, everyone will be practically naked.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Will the captain be attending this venue unclothed?”

Leonard snorted. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Now that’s he’s a fancy Starfleet captain he acts a lot more respectable than he did back in the day.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Spock nodded. “The captain, although a lively creature, always carries himself with the utmost dignity.”

“Are we talking about the same kid?” A vision of Jim with his millionth uniform shirt ripped to shreds, his hair disheveled, and a dumb grin on his face after his fight with that giant lizard on Grarius II flashed through his mind.

“Are we not referencing Captain James Kirk?”

Leonard rolled his eyes. “We need to do something about that hair if you want to send your dignified captain into a raging lust.”

Both of Spock’s eyebrows rose and he took a step backward, a brief look of horror crossing his face as Leonard raised a hand to Spock’s offensively dorky bangs.

 

*

 

“Will you be attending the congregation at the Rigellian entertainment establishment with the captain?” Spock asked as he surveyed McCoy’s handiwork in the mirror. His hair looked like it had been the victim of a catastrophic meteorological event, swept back by a wind storm and then plastered against the back of his skull after an unprecedented rain fall. McCoy had dusted his hands off with a determined nod after he had finished lubricating Spock’s hair follicles and proudly declared, “I’m a goddamn miracle worker.”

“Hell no. I don’t wanna be a third wheel.”

Spock’s heart suddenly constricted against his side. “What if I require your assistance?”

“What the hell?” McCoy’s voice trailed off as he pressed his hands against his hips. “You’ve been hanging around Jim for years. You guys are always holed up together in his quarters discussing god knows what. And then there was that time you two were stranded on an ice planet for a whole week alone. Are you telling me you’re afraid of spending a few hours in a crowded club with Jim?”

Spock glanced away from the sight of his unrecognizable features reflected in the mirror. “It is illogical, I agree. However, now that I am attempting to convey my feelings in a tasteful manner with the hope of them being replicated, it seems as if our relationship is shifting, at least in my perspective, into something entirely unknown.”

“Well then, think of him as one of those fascinating spacial anomalies you always get heated up over. An experiment for you to analyze and fuss over.”

“The captain is not a spacial anomaly,” Spock huffed. “He is not that easy to interpret.”

“Or maybe you’re dumber than you think.”

Spock glared at him through the mirror. “I look ridiculous. The captain will think the same. It would be foolish to accept his offer of accompaniment this evening if he desires to offer it.”

“For God’s sake,” McCoy yelled, slamming a fist onto the bathroom counter. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Spock stepped away. “You are too invested in my romantic endeavors, Doctor. If you focused as much attention on your own, you would be in a committed relationship by now.”

McCoy crossed his arms. “What’s this about, now? I’m doing just fine with Ms. Nyota.”

“And yet, just last evening she was partaking in a drinking game with Mr. Scott while you were occupied with my personal romantic woes during our Lonely Hearts Club meeting.”

“That wily, sneaky, backstabbing—” McCoy muttered under his breath, fist clenching at his side. His voice trailed off into obscenities.

“You must concentrate on your own love life, Doctor.”

McCoy sighed. “I’ll deal with it once I’ve got you and Jim sorted. I’m knee deep in this bullshit you’ve dug yourself into and there’s no way I’m letting you bury us both alive.”

“Your meaning is becoming unintelligible.”

“You’re saying yes when Jim asks you out or I’ll personally put you out of your misery.”

“A doctor resorting to death threats? What an ethical quandary.”

“Don’t put all my hard work to waste, Spock.” He jabbed a finger against Spock’s chest.

“I will visit this Rigellean club with Jim.

“Thank Go—”

“If you will also attend and invite Nyota,” Spock added.

“You wily, sneaky, backstabbing!” McCoy ended his tirade with a silently gapping mouth and wildly flailing arms as if he were a seaborne creature flung from a Terran ocean into an oxygen atmosphere.

“As you would say, Doctor, this is for your own good.”

“Remind me why I’ve been wasting my precious free time helping you with your shitty love life only to be put through the ringer in return.” McCoy sagged against the sink, wearied by his sudden and volatile burst of emotion. How tiring it must be, Spock thought, to be human.

“Because you care, Doctor.”

McCoy stared at Spock as if he had sprouted an additional limb.

 

*

 

“Ok, so don’t look at me like I’m an idiot—”

“I highly doubt Starfleet’s admiralty would give command of their flagship to an individual with subpar intelligence,” Spock interrupted with a lifted brow. “Even if the accusations you have spoken in private about Admiral Holtz’s IQ prove to be factual.”

Jim’s eyes rolled in a circular motion and Spock followed their trail as if they were a method of hypnosis. “You’ll change your mind after I put this proposition to you.”

“Do not be so sure of my mind, Jim. The physiology of the Vulcan brain is complex. Please state your proposition so that I may evaluate it and provide an appropriate response.”

“Ok.” Jim’s eyes darted to and fro. He bit his bottom lip. “As a disclaimer, this was Bones’ idea. But you two have been spending a lot of time together so maybe he knows better than me now.”

Ah. Realization dawned. Jim was about to ask him to the Rigellian club as McCoy promised.

“Jim,” Spock replied softy, the even tone of his voice contrasted against the swift beating of his heart. “You are rambling.”

“Oh.” Jim laughed loudly and fluffed a hand endearingly through his hair, pushing the bangs off his forehead and over the top of his head where they preceded to fall again a moment later. “Am I? I guess I am. Uh, ok, I’m going to this popular Rigellian club tonight. Might be a good place to blow off some steam. Not that you have any steam to blow off. Um, want to come?”

When Spock failed to respond zero point two seconds after Jim had stated his request, he continued.

“Bones and Uhura are coming too. So, you won’t be stuck with just me all night.”

Spock lifted an eyebrow. “Being attached to you for an evening would not be a hardship, Jim.” He was, however, pleased that Doctor McCoy had agreed to his ultimatum and invited Nyota along for their evening out, both for McCoy’s sake, as well as for Spock who was beginning to fear his ability to entertain Jim in an environment that would be more the captain’s forte.

The captain’s cheeks turned a soft shade of rouge. The temperature of the ship, though comfortable for Spock’s physiology, may be set abnormally high for human comfort. He made an internal note to address this issue with engineering.

“So,” Jim’s voice drifted on into infinity, and ended in a wavering: “is that a yes?”

“I will accompany you,” Spock confirmed.

“Wow. Great. Awesome.” Jim grinned beautifully. “I was sure you’d say no.”

“In previous situations I may have responded so,” Spock admitted. “However, I am attempting to open my perspective to new experiences outside the usual constraints of my comfort zone.”

“Don’t tell me Bones has been practicing his bar top psychology on you, too.” Jim shook his head. “Once he sucks you in, you’ll never escape.”

“I can hold my own in the doctor’s presence. Though your concern is appreciated,” Spock added with a polite nod.

“If you say so.” Jim did not look convinced. “Ok. Meet in the transporter room at twenty oh hundred?”

“I will be punctual.”

As he retreated from his presence, Jim turned and grinned back at Spock. He parted his lips as if to say something, but then pressed them together again. Instead, he held up a hand with a small wave before leaving the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Spock’s stomach protested as he stood in the transporter room at 19:45. McCoy taped his foot restlessly beside him.

“Maybe I should have gone with a simple black shirt,” McCoy rambled, staring down at the green button up he wore under a black blazer. “This looks a little loud.”

“Nyota enjoys colorful clothing,” Spock assured him. “You look presentable. I, however, look ridiculous.”

“I gotta stop with the midnight snacks.” McCoy poked at his barely discernable gut. “I don’t have the metabolism of a twenty-year-old anymore.”

“This was a mistake,” Spock continued. “When the captain sees me adorned so informally, he will no longer respect me as a colleague let alone as a prospective mate.”

“You’re not the one sitting on the cusp of forty, you whiny hobgoblin,” McCoy groaned, rubbing at his face. “This is unbearable. Why’re we here so early? Jim’s always late.”

“I promised the captain I would be punctual. I do not want to delay the commencement of his leisure time.”

“Talk about fucking ridiculous. God, my innards feel all twisted up like fishing net caught in a hurricane. I’m gonna barf all over Nyota’s shoes. They’re probably a real expensive pair, too, and her favorite. God, I’m gonna screw up, I know it.”

Spock analyzed the uncommon green tinge blooming under the doctor’s skin. “Perhaps, for your health, we should abort this mission and return you to sick bay.”

“Are we ready to party?” The captain burst through the sliding transporter room doors, Nyota following close behind, her heels clicking sharply against the ship’s floor. McCoy’s cheeks turned greener. Several of Spock’s vital systems threatened to rebel at the sight of the captain’s body tightly bound within a pair of close fitting jeans and a long sleeved shirt that hugged the contours of his body like a second skin.

“Sorry, are we—” Jim’s mouth fell, his final word lost as his eyes latched on to Spock’s. As Jim continued to stare, Spock felt as if his cheeks would combust into fiery green flames.

“You look dashing, Len,” Nyota said, a smile in the soft curves of her voice. “Green suits you.”

“I am a mere peasant humbled by the beautiful goddess before me,” McCoy replied, as if the past twenty minutes of anxious fuming had not just transpired. The doctor and Nyota continued their flirtations, their voices a muffled hum dulled by the ringing in Spock’s ears.

“You look,” Jim finally spoke, his sentence caught in the tense silence between them, “really different. Did you cut your hair?”

Spock’s stomach sunk. His premonition had been correct. The captain did not approve of his flagrant appearance.

“No,” Spock managed to reply.

“Oh.” Jim stared, his lips bruised delicately as he worried them against his teeth. “Well, whatever you did it looks great.”

Spock’s heart thundered against his side. Even when his application to Starfleet Academy had been accepted, Spock had not felt the magnitude of pure, unadulterated joy that he was currently experiencing.

“I mean,” Jim’s hand lifted, fingers twitching against his neck, “you always look great. But now you look great in a different way.”

“I see.” Spock felt like one of the Terran plants that had been carefully cultivated in his mother’s garden, finally blooming in the harsh desert air of a foreign climate. Is this, he wondered, what it feels like to be happy?

“Do you?” Jim laughed. “Because I’m not making much sense. I think I need a drink. Let’s go.” He tapped Spock’s elbow lightly and a fire spread up through his arms, tingling through the ends of his fingernails. “Come on, love birds,” Jim called to McCoy and Nyota, “let’s go blow off some steam.”

An adequate proposal, Spock thought, as his body continued to burn, his eyes unable to leave the sight of Jim’s generous posterior as he followed him onto the transporter pad.

 

*

 

There had always been two meanings between Jim and Spock. On the bridge, during away missions, walking through the corridors of their ship as they confirmed that every cog of their machine was well-oiled, they were two divergent people sharing a common purpose. When one thought slipped from the mind of the other, it was heard by his comrade before his lips even parted to vocalize it. But off-duty, Spock could always feel the space between them as if they were light years apart and traveling toward one another on impulse power. They played chess, they worked out, they conversed—often about ship’s business—they sat in silence staring out at the stars on the observation deck, both their bodies and their minds separate. He knew that Jim liked him enough and that they were friends. Yet Spock wanted more. Spock wanted all of Jim, but doubted the human would be willing to contain himself and direct all his energies into the single entirety that was Spock. Spock’s all-encompassing want filled him with guilt and disgust. Greed was a vice and a mistrustful emotion. Greed would eat away at his relationship with Jim until the human struggled, kicked and pulled to escape from Spock’s grasping mind.

But now, Spock’s greed was a harmonic echo in Jim’s persistent gaze, titled smile, and the close proximity of his body that remained at a persistent five to twelve inches from Spock’s as they conversed at the bar. An empty glass of Saurian brandy was loosely gripped in Jim’s hand which he had swallowed in one gulp after ordering it over an hour ago upon their arrival at the Rigellian club. A full cup of spice tea sat on the counter in front of Spock which had long since stopped issuing a warm trail of steam. Spock was being choked by Jim and he swallowed the attention he received in large, continuous gulps.

“If your eyes keep staring at Spock like that, they’ll stick,” McCoy boomed jovially as he escorted Nyota back from the dance floor where they had been engaged in a synchronized form of movement. Jim’s body tensed and his eyes fell away.

“Oh,” he laughed once, sharply. “My bad. Sorry,” he said to Spock’s shoulder. “I don’t usually see you in civvies, so I must’ve been a little star struck.” He lifted his glass as if to drink, and then frowned as his lips pressed against dry air. His cheeks glowed red in the dim lighting of the club. He dropped the empty glass on the counter.

“Excuse me while I visit the powder room, lady and gentlemen.” Jim winked at Spock as he jumped off his stool and headed for the bathrooms.

“The captain winked at me. Does that signify anything meaningful?”

“Something good.” Leonard slapped him on the back. “Buy him another drink when he gets back. The kid is obviously parched, if you know what I mean.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“Just buy him a drink—something strong,” Leonard hissed as he watched an Andorian approach Nyota and start to converse with her animatedly. “And if you call Jim captain while we’re here, if the sound ‘kuh’ even graces those pouty lips, I’ll kick you to the moon and back.”

“An empty threat considering you do not have the physical stamina to do so.”

“Ha!” McCoy laughed jovially. “I feel like I can do anything right now. Nyota just told me I’m a great dancer. Didn’t know I still had it in me—it’s been a while since I let my hair down.”

Despite the fact he had not yet consumed an intoxicating beverage, the doctor’s eyes shone under the establishment’s pulsing lights, his smile abnormally unimpeded.

“I am pleased your evening with Nyota is proceeding successfully.”

“Thanks to you--I gotta admit. I never would have asked Nyota to come if you hadn’t forced my hand.” He pressed a hand momentarily to Spock’s shoulder. Spock did not pull away. The gesture was, Spock knew, a sign of the doctor’s friendship. Despite his hard edges and occasional belligerent language, McCoy had been a loyal confidant through Spock’s emotional turmoil. He had never given up on Spock, even if he had, at times, been a difficult student. If Spock was successful in his courtship of the captain tonight, it would be because of Leonard.

“You two having fun?” Jim returned and tossed an arm across both their shoulders. Spock forced himself not to press his nose against the captain’s neck and breathe in his scent

“Oh yeah, we’re like two peas in a pod. We’re getting along like a house on fire.”

“Although I would not use such metaphorical phrasing, I am in agreement,” Spock replied.

“Huh,” Jim said simply, his arms falling away. “Well, I’m happy for you two.”

“God knows what you have to be happy about. Your glass is empty.” McCoy gave Spock a wide-eyed glare.

“Captain—”

McCoy’s foot twitched threateningly, and Spock took a step away from his range. “Jim, may I purchase an inebriating substance that you may consume at your leisure?”

“Jesus Christ,” McCoy muttered with an ill-concealed snicker behind his raised glass.

Spock considered executing the threat McCoy had recently intimidated him with. However, Spock’s anger subsided when Jim smiled back at him. “Uh, that’s ok, don’t waste your credits.”

McCoy’s laughter collapsed, dripping and choking, into his glass of bourbon.

As always, the captain was a considerate creature. “Although I understand most alcoholic beverages provide no nutritional value and can be harmful to the human liver in abundant quantities, I do understand they can provide a modicum of pleasure via taste and physiological effect, and, in controlled quantities, will not be fatal. Purchasing a beverage that would provide enjoyment for you, Jim, could never be considered wasteful.”

McCoy nodded behind Jim, raising the thumb of his right hand in what Spock believed was an approving gesture.

He quickly lowered his arm when Jim glanced back at him. “Well, if you’re sure it’s ok. Thanks.”

“Another Saurian brandy?” Spock asked.

“You know me too well,” Jim smiled softly with a hesitation in the corners of his lips that Spock did not recognize. The captain looked as he did when he collapsed against his desk after a week of double shifts during another Enterprise crisis, his smile wavering as Spock completed the last notation on their mission report. With a nod, Spock turned to the bartender and requested a double portion of Jim’s chosen drink. If the night did not end as Spock dared to hope, with the captain agreeing to be his romantic partner, at least he would perform his utmost duty to see that Jim enjoyed his brief night of shore leave.

When Spock handed Jim his drink, he gripped the glass’s rim, his fingers a lightyear away from Spock’s own resting at the bottom. Raising it with a second vocal profession of gratitude, Jim tipped the glass back and drained it in three successive swallows. “I’m gonna go dance. Wanna join me?” He called over Spock’s shoulder to where Nyota had fended off the Andorian who was now sulking at the other end of the bar. “You promised to show me those dance moves you learned on Arrakis III.”

“Sure you can keep up?” Nyota laughed as she joined Jim, looping an arm through his proffered one.

“Doubt it, but I’ll do my best not to disappoint.” Jim winked. As Nyota dragged him off, Spock was left to reassess the true meaning behind the captain’s lowering of a single eyelid, if there was any at all.

“God dammit,” McCoy complained. “What’s that idiot doing? I was just about to ask her for another dance.” He slumped against the bar and pressed a hand against his forehead. “What’d you do to piss him off?”

“Nothing that I am aware of.” Spock frowned. “Perhaps it was you who disturbed his mood considering he has stolen your date.”

“It’s not exactly a date,” the doctor sighed. “I mean, I asked her to join us, but I chickened out on the asking it to be a date part.”

“It appears we are both cowards.”

“I’ll drink to that.” McCoy clinked his almost empty glass against Spock’s cold cup of tea. “Jim’s got something stuck up his ass tonight. Whatever it is, you better be the one to dislodge it or he’ll find someone else to help him, I guarantee it.”

Spock stared at the doctor, vaguely horrified. “If a medical procedure is required upon the captain’s rectum, you would be better qualified, Doctor, to perform it. If you are too inebriated, I suggest we return to the Enterprise immediately so that another one of the ship’s doctors may ease the captain’s suffering.”

Leonard was hanging on to the bar as he took large hiccupping gulps. The copious amount of liquor he had quickly consumed must have already begun to affect his balance. “You’ll be the one to kiss Jim better.” He made an obscene gesture with his lips as he clamored back onto his seat. “But first you need to lighten Jim’s mood.” He tapped his fingers against the counter, lost in thought as he stared into the crowd where Nyota was twirling Jim around the dance floor. Spock’s heart practically leapt at the sight of Jim’s joyous face. It pained him that he could not create a similar effect on the captain’s mood. “That’s it.” Leonard pointed a finger in the direction of their shipmates. “Go ask him to dance when the music changes.”

“He is currently happily occupied in dance with Nyota.”

“Say you want to cut in. She probably won’t mind.”

“I am hardly likely to complement Jim as a dance partner. Moving my body in a rhythmic fashion is not a skill I possess.”

“Well, I’m gonna go steal Nyota away.” Leonard drained the last of his drink and stumbled out of his chair. “Which’ll leave Jim all alone and free for someone will more balls than you to take.” Straightening the hem of his shirt and brushing a hand over his hair, Leonard ambled out to the dance floor. After inhaling in a shaking breath, Spock followed.

Jim glanced at him as he approached, his movements slowing as the music faded, shifting from one beat into the next. The people surrounding them blurred as Jim’s features came into sharp focus. “Would you care to dance?” Spock asked, holding out his hand as he had seen human actors do in various holofilms played during the Enterprise’s movie nights. Jim often pulled Spock from the labs to accompany him, stating that his first needed to be seen among the crew off-duty once in a while.

Jim’s eyes drifted over Spock’s shoulder where his failing auditory system heard McCoy and Nyota’s voices mixing into a nebulous hum. Spock stepped to the left, intercepting Jim’s attention. “I am aware that I do not have your skill on the dance floor. But, perhaps you can teach me.”

Jim’s smile was a warm balm against the painful beating of Spock’s heart. When Jim took his hand, Spock felt as if he had been tossed a lifesaving buoy; his fingers wrapping around Jim’s desperately. His body was flooded with sensation.

“I’d love to dance with you, Spock.” Jim’s voice hit him on a wave of yearning. Spock did not know what emotion he was feeling, the captain’s or his own as Jim took his free hand and pressed it against the tender dip of his right hip. His other hand landed on Spock’s shoulder. Two point three centimeters to the left and he would be touching the bare skin of Spock’s neck.

Spock’s body followed Jim’s like a puppet being pulled by stringed emotions as he began slowly swaying to the gentle tempo issuing from the establishment’s speakers. _I would love to dance with you, Spock_ , echoed in his head over and over in tune with the music and Jim’s leading steps. Where Jim stepped, Spock, as always, followed.

Jim’s eyes, lips, nose, and cheeks filled his vision. They danced in silence, and although he knew humans were psi-null, Spock wondered if Jim could read his emotions in the human eyes he inherited from his mother. Jim often claimed he had learned to interpret his first officer’s subtle moods though he had not been forthcoming on how he had formulated a translation. Spock’s hands crushingly gripped onto Jim as if he were a bird likely to spook and fly away at any sudden movement. No matter how strictly he struggled with Vulcan impassion, no matter how many times he practiced his expressionless facade in his mirror, recalling moments when he had felt fear, or anger, or sadness, even if he could wipe clean the creases from his brow, lips, and cheeks, his eyes always spoke too much.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance,” Jim’s voice pierced through Spock’s thoughts.

“I cannot. I am simply following your lead.”

“There you go with the compliments again.” Jim smiled and Spock held his breath. “You’re starting to make me believe I’m better than I actually am.”

“I am a scientist, Jim. I describe in detail what I observe before me.”

“You’re killing me, Spock.” A sudden sadness washed over Jim’s face and Spock cursed himself for whatever words he had spoken that had caused his captain grief. He wanted Jim to be happy; if only he could discover the key that would unlock Jim’s smile, providing him the constant happiness he deserved.

“Captain, I apologize. I meant no off—”

Jim shook his head. “No, it’s not your fault. You haven’t said anything wrong. You’re a good friend. You’re a good guy. You’re—” he bowed his head and his fingernails dug into Spock for a moment. Spock barely disguised the gasp of surging pleasure that clogged his throat. “I just want you to be happy, Spock.” His smile returned while his eyes spoke another emotion Spock did not have the vocabulary to interpret. “He’s a good guy. One of the best I’ve ever known. You couldn’t have made a more logical choice, really.” Jim’s hand loosened until Spock’s grip was the only thing left connecting them.

The music had come to an end and another tune was beginning at a swifter tempo. “Jim. I do not understand. Who do you—?”

“Can I cut in?” Yeoman Barrick had appeared beside them as if he had transported into the space beginning to form between Spock and the captain.

Jim glanced once more at Spock with his masked smile, then over to the Yeoman as warmth bloomed within his eyes. “Sure. Why not?”

Why not? A thousand arguments crowded into Spock’s head but he could formulate none into a logical expression of doubt. His hands released Jim’s which shifted into Yeoman Barrick’s eager grasp. “Thanks for the dance, Spock,” Jim called out cheerily before the crowd and Yeoman Barrick swallowed him whole.

Spock somehow found his way back to the bar. The bartender took one look at his face and placed a glass of clear liquid before him. When he swallowed it, the drink burned his throat pleasingly. He continued to drink until the glass was empty. He requested another.

“Are you nuts? Are you crazy? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Although his tone left much to be desired, the doctor’s questions were piercingly legitimate. Spock had no logical answer for any of them.

“Why are you not dancing with Nyota?” Spock demanded as he contemplated his second drink.

“Why did you let that slime ball steal Jim away?”

“The captain wanted to dance with him.”

“And you think Jim deserves a slime ball?”

“If the captain desires him. And if the Yeoman wishes no harm upon him.”

“Give me a double of whatever he’s drinking,” Leonard called to the bartender.

“You should return to Nyota.”

“I’ve already made enough of a fool of myself tonight, thanks to you.”

“I’m sure Nyota had no complaints.”

“She’s just being polite.”

“She is fond of you.”

“And how the hell do you know?”

“She informed me.”

McCoy made an intelligible noise before sampling his beverage with a sharp smack of his lips. “A lot of people are fond of me. Doesn’t mean they want me as a beau.”

“You are regressing into self-pity.”

“Says the guy who handed his love interest over to some twenty-something little shit who synthesizes coffee for a living.” McCoy pressed his cheek against the bar top, the creased lines of his face staring up at Spock like a disproving spill across the counter reflecting his future loneliness.

“Resting your face against this surface is unwise. It is likely infested with myriad forms of bacteria considering the diverse range of clientele served by this establishment.”

McCoy continued to glare at Spock as he attempted to sip his drink from his prone position. Most of the contents spilled onto the countertop rather than into his mouth, and pooled under his cheek.

“Return to Nyota.”

“Return to Jim.”

Spock stared into his drink.

“You remind me of me, you know.”

“I cannot imagine why,” Spock answered. “One of your favorite pastimes in commenting on how my logic is different from your abundant emotionalism.”

McCoy lifted himself from his liquid mess and leaned a hand languidly against his cheek. “I let some young fella steal away my wife, too. My ex-wife that is. He stole Jocelyn right out from under my nose. And when it happened, I barely battered an eyelash. I let it happen. I was a Goddamn fool and I still am.”

Spock glanced at Leonard from his peripheral vision. He was vaguely aware of this story. Jim had informed him that there had been “bad-blood” between McCoy and his wife, and that their marriage had ended on bad terms. “Your wife was unfaithful to your matrimonial vows?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then, if you were both engaged in a monogamous relationship when she began a romance with another individual, I fail to understand how you believe this situation to be relevant to my own with the captain. Or why you speak as if the circumstances that occurred were your fault.”

“Look,” McCoy slurred, lifting a finger in Spock’s direction that wavered before landing with a thunk against the bartop. “You know nothing about marriage. You don’t just spout some empty vows in front of a crowd and then everything is hunky dory, lovey dovey for the rest of your life. You gotta work at it. You gotta pay attention to one another. You gotta appreciate each other. You don’t take your partner for granted like I did. You gotta put some honest to God effort in and not stand around waiting for shit to happen, better or worse.” Leonard lifted his second glass, which he successfully swallowed, only a few droplets spilling in a line, like two disordered tears, down his chin. “Sure, Jocelyn cheated on me and I cursed her to hell and back for it. But, really, after I got my head out of my ass, I realized fault was a two way street. I was barely home most of the time. I was obsessed with my career, trying to work my way up to becoming a surgeon at the hospital. I worked shift after shift, while she was left at home all alone in a new city—she didn’t know anyone. She moved across the country with me when I got the position. Put her faith in me and I screwed her over.” Sniffing loudly, McCoy lifted his hand, waving his empty glass at the bartender. “No wonder she went looking for companionship somewhere else in the end. And I was so pissed at her, I didn’t even fight to win her back. Just let her run off with the asshole while I hopped on the first shuttle to Starfleet to get as far away from my failure as possible.”

Spock blinked, unsure how to reply to McCoy’s confession. This was the first time he had revealed anything of significance about his past beyond the perfunctory.

“I apologize,” Spock said.

Leonard snorted. “For what? Wasn’t your damn fault.”

“Is that not the common human response when a friend has experienced anguish?”

McCoy stared up at him with glazed eyes, his lips downturned. “Well, I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d ever hear you trying to hand-out a little human comfort.” He laughed softly, sadly. “Never imagined I’d be spilling all my personal beans to you either. I’m a little drunk. Sorry, for being such a sad sack.”

“It is no trouble, Leonard.” Spock, before he realized it, had pressed a hand against the doctor’s back which was sagging defeated against the counter. “I believe your experience, however much of a failure you believe it to be, has given you a perspective on love and faithfulness that can only serve you in your future romantic endeavors.”

“Oh, really?”

“Indeed. When you next become romantically involved, you will not repeat the same mistakes, but know how to share an adequate amount of affection and time with your partner as is required to maintain a fulfilling relationship.”

McCoy shrugged. “I guess.”

“You should not allow one failure to direct your future course. You have another chance at love with Nyota. You should learn from your mistakes and not let the past repeat itself.”

“What if I mess up again?” Leonard rested his arms against the counter, his head sinking, his sleeves soaking in the alcoholic mess he had created previously.

Spock patted McCoy in an awkwardly steady motion as he had witnessed Jim do in the past when the doctor had over indulged in liquor and sunk into an inebriated depression. “You will keep persisting, as you always to do until one of your patients is fully cured.”

McCoy sighed laboriously and lifted his head.

“Sorry to interrupt, you two.” Nyota leaned in with a smile. “Just wanted to let you know I’m calling it a night.”

“Ah, Nyota!” McCoy bounced out of his seat, wobbling on his unsteady feet. Spock grabbed his elbow to steady him.

Nyota laughed and took McCoy’s other arm. “Looks like you should call it a night too, Len.”

“I am in agreement,” Spock said.

“When you laugh,” McCoy peered dreamily into Nyota’s eyes, waving back and forth on his feet, “it sounds like music.”

“Ok, Romeo. Time for bed.” She wrapped one of Leonard’s arms around her shoulder.

“Your wish is my command,” he slurred, his head falling against her shoulder.

As Spock assisted, taking Leonard’s left arm in his grip, he saw the captain, accompanied by Yeoman Barrick, slip through the back doors of the bar.

His heart, for a millisecond, stilled, the flow of his blood pausing, his lungs collapsing, until the survival instincts in his brain retuned his physiological functions to their normal rate of efficiency.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, when Spock entered the mess hall, Jim was already seated at another table with Yeoman Barrick.

“I’m sorry, Spock,” Leonard said after Spock had explained what he had witnessed last night upon their departure from the Rigellian club.

“Apologies are unnecessary. I realize now, that the captain and I are not a logical match romantically.”

“Hey now.” Leonard’s head lifted from where he had been hunched, groaning over his coffee mug. “You don’t know if Jim actually went to bed with that shithead or not. And if so, it’s not like they got themselves hitched. You know, maybe you should ditch all this gameplay and talk to Jim straight up. All this romancing isn’t really your style, anyway.”

Spock stood. “I have urgent business to attend to in the labs.”

“Didn’t you learn anything from my sob story last night?” Jumping up despite his interred state, McCoy grabbed at Spock’s arm. “Dammit man, don’t give up! Fight for him!” Several crewmembers looked over at Leonard’s exclamation, including the captain, his brow creasing into a frown.

“You are creating a scene, Doctor.” Spock pulled his arm away and departed. For the rest of the day, he locked himself in the labs, and tried not to imagine the way Yeoman Barrick’s hands had likely laid themselves on the captain’s flesh during their late night assignation.

 

*

 

Spock continued to ignore every single hail, friendly or otherwise, from Leonard.

“Goddamn ingrate,” Leonard cried, tossing his communicator onto an empty biobed as Chapel shook her head at him from over Lieutenant th’Ressia’s groaning body. “That’s what you get for eating too many Spuphie seeds,” he yelled unsympathetically at the prone body. He didn’t need to be a doctor to know that Andorians couldn’t ingest the course outer shells. Probably trying to impress Ensign Corwin who was weeping all over the Lieutenant’s convulsing stomach. They were all fools, Spock, Leonard, Jim, Yeoman Barrick, Lieutenant th’Ressia, Ensign Corwin—the whole fucking ship. McCoy vowed immediately to forego any romantic attachments, matchmaking, holovids—anything with any hint of a romantic subplot—and barricade himself in his office with a cupboard full of bourbon for the rest of this cursed mission. Anything to prevent risking another broken heart.

“You okay, Leonard?” An angelic voice called behind him. Leonard stubbed his toe against the bedside table with a curse.

“Nyota!” Leonard gasped in shock, leaning against the bed as he controlled a scream behind clenched teeth. “What brings you down to sickbay? You’re not ill, are you?”

“No, I’m fine. I have a delicate matter I want to speak with you about.” She glanced over at Lieutenant th’Ressia’s bed where the kid had stopped his groaning to peer over at them. Ensign Corwin blinked at them curiously through her endless stream of tears.

“Let’s step into my office.” Holding out an arm, he directed Nyota through the door, hobbling on his possibly broken baby toe behind her. He closed the door firmly on the tips of his patients’ noses.

“I wanted to clear something up,” Nyota said as she took a seat, waving away Leonard’s offer of a drink. “Because word around the ship says one thing, while my instincts have been telling me another.”

“Sure.” Leonard took the seat opposite her. “Go on.”

“Well,” she glanced down at her lap, “I don’t usually believe gossip. Mostly it’s people telling stories to keep themselves entertained during long stretches of space travel. And we’re a small little community here. It’s hard to stop people from talking.”

“Ok.” Leonard frowned, his heart quickening in his chest. He’d been outed. Jim had probably opened his big mouth to his new side piece last night, laughing about Leonard’s ridiculous out-of-his league crush. The little twerp had spread Leonard’s secret among the ranks. And now Nyota was here to shut the door hard on his hopes and dreams.

Nyota took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and stared Leonard straight in the eye. “Everyone thinks you and Spock are dating.”

Leonard blinked. “Me and Spock are—wait, what?”

Nyota nodded slowly. “You and Spock are dating.”

Laughter rose from deep in his stomach and burst from his throat in convulsing gasps. “Oh,” he coughed, “that’s a good one, Nyota. Me and Spock. Dating! When pigs fly and hell freezes over!”

“So, you aren’t dating?”

“No, of course not!” He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling as he wheezed for air. God, he’d felt like shit before Nyota arrived, but this girl sure knew how to cheer him up. What a sense of humor. And such a perfect poker face, too.

“Wait,” Leonard straightened. “You’re not serious?”

“Well, I had my doubts.”

“I should hope so! Me and Spock.” Leonard shook his head. This whole ship was raving mad. Had the air filtration system been bugged by some neurotic space drug again?

“You two have been spending a lot of time together. I think that’s where the rumor started from.”

“That’s because we’ve been giving each other dating advice.” Leonard shifted in his seat. “It’s not for me to say, but he has his heart set on someone else. Someone that’s definitely not me.”

Nyota nodded. “You never seemed interested in Spock that way.”

A shiver coursed its way down Leonard’s spine at the thought. “Definitely not.”

“And, seeing as you’ve been hovering around me lately, I thought you might have had feelings for me—well—maybe it was my imagination.”

Leonard nodded. Now she was making some sense. “Of course you’re the one I like—not Spock.”

“Oh,” Nyota’s eyes widened. “So, you do have feelings for me.”

Leonard froze. “Oh, shit.”

Nyota tilted her head to the side, a smile playing across her lips. “Took you long enough to say so. I thought you had more sense than to make a girl wait around while you catch up.”

“Sure you don’t want that drink?” Leonard wiped his sweaty palms against his thighs.

“No, but looks like you do.” She grinned and reached into his cupboard to pour him a large glass of bourbon.

 

*

 

A few hours later, Bones was sitting in his office, reeling from his hangover, Uhura’s revelation, his own confession, her unexpected response, and the mess he’d probably gotten Spock accidentally into when Jim barged through his doors like a bat out of hell.

“Dammit man!” Leonard pressed a hand against his forehead. “Can you refrain from the dramatic door slamming? I’ve got a lot on my mind!”

“What was that this morning?” Jim demanded, completely ignoring Leonard’s pleas, as usual. “What did you say to, Spock? I’ve never seen him look that emotional.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” He reached into his cupboard for another shot of his special hangover hypos. If he was gonna deal with one of Jim’s tantrums, he needed to be medicated.

“Yours, of course.” Jim thrust an accusatory finger in his direction, his eyes all hot fire and damnation. “Now that you’re dating, it’d be nice if you paid Spock the respect he deserves.”

Leonard gaped. “Not you, too! Kid, you’ve got too many screws loose in that pretty head of yours.”

Jim’s fire only burned hotter. “Well, are you going to apologize?”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” McCoy’s hypo dropped to the table, forgotten in his surprise. “Jim Kirk, bursting into my office like Spock’s knight in shining armor.”

Jim’s arm wavered and lowered slightly. “I’m his captain,” he stammered. “Spock’s my first officer. I can’t afford to him emotionally compromised by his shitty boyfriend. Besides, he’s my friend,” he added as an afterthought. “I don’t like seeing him get hurt.”

“Oh my, God. All this time. After all the fucking drama I’ve had to deal with.” Leonard leaned his head back and laughed at the irony of it all. He laughed at Spock’s futile anxiety, laughed at his ragged nails which he’d bitten to the quick in his frustration over his friend’s unresolved sexual tension. He laughed until his head pulsed with the remaining liquor coursing through his blood. “You like him. You _like_ like, Spock.”

Jim balked and eventually spluttered, “No. No, I don't. What are you talking about? You’re crazy. What have you been drinking? Me like Spock?” He laughed nervously. “No way. No chance.”

“How long?” Leonard asked.

Jim pursed his lips.

“Really? You're still trying to cover? I haven't seen you this jealous since Gaila told you she was dating five other people.”

Jim glanced away. His cheeks looked like he'd misapplied sunscreen and gone for a sunbathe in the observation deck during their latest fly-by past an unnamed star. As a doctor, and Jim's long suffering best friend, Leonard knew only too well how treacherous a snitch the human body could be.

“A long time, then.” A moment ago, Leonard wanted to punch Jim’s stupid lights out, but now he suddenly felt bad for his love sick friend. “You kept up the smokescreen really well. Usually you're a slobbering mess when you fall for someone.”

“He was dating Uhura for years.”

“Yeah, he was. But not anymore.”

“He's my first officer.

“Starfleet might not encourage it, but they're not gonna break up a power couple like you two over a technicality.”

“He's a Vulcan.”

“Since when have non-humans been an issue for you? And Spock's dated at least one other human before.”

Jim collapsed into a chair and stared down at his hands. “But, it's Spock.”

“Don't be an idiot.”

“He's not interested in me. I'm the complete opposite of his type.”

 _You damn fool_ , Leonard thought. Both of them were idiotic, blind fools staring into the sun and letting  themselves get burned.

“Who says Spock has a type?”

Jim gave him a leering side-eye. “Trying to logic me out of my pit of despair? You really have been spending too much time around Spock.”

Leonard snorted. “This isn't logic. It's good old common sense. You can't see it because you're drunk on love. Tell him how you feel.”

“No way,” Jim laughed. “Are you crazy? He’ll say no and the next two years on this ship will be awkward as hell.

“Tell him or I will.”

Jim glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Jim Kirk had faced terrorists, murderous despots, Klingons, and a sleuth of unknowns as they pushed the Federation’s frontier further and further. But Leonard had never seen the kid look more afraid then he did now at the thought of revealing his secret crush to a Vulcan.

“Trust me. It’s for your own good, and Spock’s.”

Jim shook his head furiously, his bangs flopping against his forehead. “What happened to common sense?”

“Just do it, dammit!”

“No!”

“Fine.” Leonard stood and stalked out the door.

“Wait,” Jim called after him. “Bones. Where are you going? Bones!” He grabbed at his shoulder. He began to whine like the little brat he was. “Bones, please, don’t!”

Shaking Jim off, Bones continued stalking down the hallway as he pulled his communicator from his pocket. “McCoy to Spock. Jim’s had an accident. Get to deck C, now.”

“Oh my way,” came the immediate reply after a day full of silence from the moody Vulcan.

Jim crashed into Leonard’s back as he came to a halt in front of the turbolift. “What are you up to, Bones? I’m not hurt? Bones, I’m ordering you—stay out of my business for once in your life.”

“And I’m telling you, as your friend, as your doctor, to shut the fuck up for once in your life and have a little patience.” He stared, arms crossed over his chest—ignoring Jim’s maniacal threats, nudges, and pokes—at the turbolift doors. His foot tapped against the floor impatiently.

Sometimes, all a guy needed was a little shove in the right direction. When the doors opened a minute later to reveal Spock’s harried face, Bones pushed at Jim’s back, slamming him into Spock, and hit the door mechanism on the turbolift. They slid shut as Spock toppled into the wall with the force of Jim’s body being flung against him.

Leonard flipped open his communicator again. “McCoy to Scott. I’m calling in that favor you owe me.’

“Ach, now? I’m a little busy. Can’t it—”

“Just hit the emergency brakes on turbolift one from engineering control, would you?’

“Ahh, what’s this? Planning a little turbolift dalliance with someone special?”

“Just do it, Scott. Now!”

“Everyone’s always in such a hurry on this ship,” Scotty mumbled over the line before Leonard heard a clunk and then silence from the turbolift shaft above him. “Aye, it’s done.”

“Thanks, Scotty.” Leonard grinned into his communicator before snapping it shut and heading to the mess hall where he had a date with Nyota after her shift. Spock and Jim could thank him later.

 

*

 

“Jim, are you all right?” Spock asked at the same time Jim pushed himself away to the other side of the turbolift with an agitated apology. Spock’s hands grasped at empty air where Jim’s firm shoulders had been before they fell to his waist in dejection.

“I’m fine,” Jim said too loudly while Spock replied that an apology was unnecessary considering Doctor McCoy had been the one to fling his captain forcefully into the turbolift, the very opposite of what a doctor should be doing to an infirmed patient.

They stared at each other from opposite ends of the turbolift as their verbal deluge snapped into silence. The turbolift hummed into life around them, lights flashing along the windows as the mechanism drew them upward.

“Doctor McCoy informed me that you were involved in an accident.”

Jim shook his head and spread his arms wide, standing on his toes and then lowering himself in a simple display of physical adeptness. “He lied. I’m fine.”

Spock frowned. “Why would the doctor lie about such a grave subject? He is an emotionally unpredictable creature, however, it is unlike him to take your health so lightheartedly.” Once, Lieutenant Sulu and the captain had thought it would be amusing to play a prank on the doctor by informing him Jim’s leg had been sliced off in a haphazard game of what the Lieutenant called ‘warp pool.’ After he had dashed hurriedly from the mess hall to sickbay only to find the captain jumping up and down, two legs in tact on a biobed, the doctor had brandished a laser scalpel at the Lieutenant’s leg and chased him around deck three for a period of twenty-eight minutes.

“Beats me.” Jim shrugged and glanced away. “He’s hungover and not thinking straight. Bridge, please,” he called to the computer.

“Emergency stop initiated,” the computer droned pleasantly as the turbolift shuddered to a halt.

“What the hell.” The captain thwacked the control panel with his palm. “Computer, bridge.”

“Request denied. Emergency stop initiated.”

“Dammit!” The captain hit both his palms against the panel.

“Unable to interpret request. Please repeat.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered. Jim leaned against the wall, eyes falling closed, head tilting back with a thump, exposing his neck.

“Considering his behavior before our current predicament, I can only fathom that your homicidal remarks are directed at Doctor McCoy.”

“And the man calls himself my friend.”

Spock pressed his back against the wall as he watched the captain. He felt as if the two meters of space between them were being subtracted by a spacial anomaly. An illogical reaction he could only attribute to his secretive emotions for the man he was unintentionally cloistered with.

“Although I cannot fathom the reasoning behind the doctor’s ill-advised actions, I can only assume, from his previous displays of affection toward you, that he meant well.”

“You have no idea, Spock.” The captain’s face turned, revealing another terrain of musculature for Spock’s eyes to explore. “No fucking idea.”

His senses sharpened, signaling his body into red alert as if he were facing a physical danger. Spock counted the beads of moisture perspiring along the captain’s neck.

“Are you experiencing claustrophobia?”

“I’m fine.” Jim kicked the heel of his foot aimlessly against the wall. His fingers flexed—folding inward and then stretched outward from his palm again.

“I am positive, considering that turbolift one is the main source of entry and exit from the bridge, that a crewmember will be alerted to its malfunction shortly and inform engineering. Considering the efficiency of our engineering crew, our confinement will be resolved in an expedient fashion.”

“You’re probably right.” The captain’s foot continued its methodical rhythm. _Tap, tap, tap_. Spock’s heartbeat refused to slow despite the pressure of his mental facilities. Jim’s cheeks glowed red. Spock stepped forward.

“Are you certain you are not ill?”

“I’m fine,” Jim replied. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth. His abdomen contracted as he pressed himself more forcefully against the wall. Spock took a step back.

Silence stretched between them like the streaking stars beyond the windows of the turbolift, the universe ever expanding into the unknown. Spock shifted to his right foot. It was unlike Jim to allow such a deep silence to remain between them for so long. Silence had always been his enemy, one he fought against with the exuberant nature of his words and emotive body language.

Spock’s mind told him the temperature had not risen in the turbolift and that the ship’s controls were heating the vessel at the usual twenty-three point two degree Celsius. However, blood coursed through his veins and his heart pumped desperately.

“Did you have a pleasant evening with Yeoman Barrick last night?” Spock’s voice ripped through the silence and broke it into shattering pieces. Jim glanced up, his facial muscles reacting as if they had been pierced.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you have a—”

“Are you still obsessing about my, what was it—inappropriate relationship with a crewman?”

“I was simply attempting to make polite conversation to distract you from our current predicament.” Spock turned away and his shoulder collided painfully with the wall. “However, if you have begun a mutually satisfying romantic dalliance with Yeoman Barrick, I wish you both happiness together.”

The captain’s foot thwacked harder against the wall, the sound echoing violently through the confined chamber. “You really must think I’m a shitty captain if you think I’d sleep around with my crew.”

Spock’s jaw clenched. “I do not believe that you are excrement.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Your tendency to place words I have not spoken into my mouth is illogical.”

“Says the guy who thinks I had a Yeoman’s dick in my mouth last night.”

“I was not aware humans were a psi-positive species and that you could infer my thoughts.”

“I can read it in the disapproving look on your face. Every time you mention Yeoman Barrick, you look like you just took a huge gulp of black coffee.”

“I recommend you visit Dr. McCoy in order to have your eyes tested for abnormalities.”

“Yeah, and I recommend you visit Dr. McCoy to have your head tested because you’ve gone fucking crazy.” The captain crossed his arms tightly against his chest, his eyes wide. Emotion poured through them like daggers. Spock’s toes curled within his boots. His lungs contracted and expanded furiously. The captain’s back continued to press against the wall and his hands were tucked protectively under his arms. Two point eight meters of painfully aggravating space separated them when only last night they danced, arms and hands touching, an ease of familiarity between them. Spock took a step forward. Jim’s lips pressed into a solid line. Perhaps the captain was correct. Spock was mentally unstable.

“I suppose,” Spock glanced down at his clenched hands, forcing the fingers to separate from the half-moon groves his fingernails hand branded in his flesh, “I have been acting abnormally.”

Jim stared warily as Spock took another step forward.

“That’s an understatement.”

“I apologize.” Spock took another step. The fire in Jim’s eyes wavered. The burning in Spock’s side intensified.

“You don’t—” His Adam’s apple bobbed erratically along his throat like a broken spring. “Are you okay?”

“I do not know,” Spock replied as he paused, the threat of the indefinite suddenly blinding him. Although he was a creature of caution, it was unlike him to avoid the mysteries of the unknown. As a child, he had clenched his fingers into the dark dirt of his mother’s garden to see what specimens he would find, had ventured into the desert alone to complete his Kaswan, and had left all he had known on Vulcan to begin a new life in Starfleet. But here he was, facing the questioning face of his friend, unable to express an emotion he had been concealing for more time than he knew because he feared his words would be the catalyst for an ending rather than a beginning.

The captain’s back lifted from the wall and his arms fell to his sides. “What is it? What’s wrong? Tell me.”

Spock exhaled. “I cannot.”

“It’s me, Spock. Of course you can tell me.”

The captain was a man of action, and a physical creature, as Dr. McCoy had constantly insisted. He had thought the doctor’s lewd references to how Spock should express his emotions in a tactile manner had been a crude form of humor meant to cause a reaction from his Vulcan student. But, as Spock’s ears roared with the pulse of his blood, he realized there was one option—the final challenge left if he truly desired to woo the captain. If this did not produce results, his feelings would be outed, left to hang in the air or sink to the floor, crushed under Jim’s boot. But, at least, Spock would finally know. 

“I apologize,” Spock said before clamping his hands firmly on Jim’s shoulders, lowering his head, and kissing him.

Jim’s lips were unbearably soft, yet still under his own. Spock opened his eyes an eternity later to find Jim staring wide-eyed like a baby sehlat caught in a le-matya’s jaws.

Spock immediately stepped away and forced his hands behind his back. “I apologize,” he repeated.

The captain stared at him open-mouthed. Spock taped the exit button on the turbolift uselessly.

“I—” Jim mumbled. “Um.”

“That was unprofessional. I apologize.” Ten ways to inflict harm upon Dr. McCoy’s person flitted in angry starbursts through Spock’s mind. He would pay for inserting his foolish turbolift fantasy into Spock’s emotionally compromised mind.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe it.”

Spock pressed the exit button forcefully, the plasteel cracking under his finger.

“You kissed me.”

“I apologize.”

The captain’s body heat entered Spock’s vicinity. Spock stepped away. The captain crowded closer, his eyes aflame once again, but now with an emotion that trailed down into his cheeks and mouth, lifting his expression upward. Spock’s back pressed against the wall. With nowhere left to go, the captain’s body was suddenly upon him, arms, legs, chest—

“For what?” Jim asked, not waiting for an answer.

 

*

 

A crowd had formed around the turbolift doors when Leonard returned from his date. He had spent the past hour floating on cloud nine, and proceeded to glide through the corridors as the Lieutenant’s hand slipped firmly into his own. He’d spent his lunch hour in utter bliss, hangover mysteriously fading as Nyota burst into raucous laugher over one of his inane comments, her gaze steady and inviting while she shifted topics like rapid-fire, from commiseration on the stupidity of their commanding officers, to a blow-by-blow of her argument with a riled Tellarite at a Yorktown restaurant. Ever since his failed marriage, Leonard had kept his emotions wrapped up in bristles and thorns. For the first time in five years, he had begun to hope for something other than whether he could pull Jim from the jaws of death one more time, or convince Scotty to wear proper safety equipment when servicing the warp core.

“What's happening?” Nyota asked two yeomen grumbling against the closed doors.

“Turbolift's broken and engineering is taking forever to fix it,” one of them replied.

“Shit,” Leonard muttered, scrambling in his pocket for his comm. “I forgot.”

“Looking for this?” Nyota plucked his comm from where it was latched to his belt. Her fingers had barely touched him, but Leonard's cheeks burned in response as if he were a thirteen year old boy again, asking Sally Reynolds to the school dance.

“What did you forget?”

“Uh, that I locked Jim and Spock in the turbolift. I figured forcing them into a confined space together might encourage them to air their feelings.”

Nyota crossed her arms. “You didn't.”

Leonard coughed into his hand. “Desperate times, desperate measures?”

Nyota’s frown turned into a grin which turned into a clap of laugher, and once again Leonard’s heart inflated with helium and rose to drift above their heads.

“You're terrible.”

“Knowing those two kids, they probably spent the whole time making small talk about space dust instead of getting down to business.” Flipping open his comm, Leonard gave Scotty the go-ahead to get the turbolift running again.

“About time—you know how many complaints I've had to field? You owe me one, lad.”

The turbolift jittered, the lights along the sides blaring to life as the compartment lowered.

“Maybe we should have commed them a warning first,” Nyota said. “We might catch them with their pants down.”

Leonard snorted. “Spock doesn't have it in him.” The guy had practically combusted at the thought of even holding Jim's hand.

Nyota shrugged and said nothing. Leonard decided not to probe into the meaning of her smirk. Some stories were better off not knowing.

The turbolift whistled to the floor. There was a small tense pause before the doors opened in which a crowd of offices hopped restlessly from foot to foot and flocked toward the entrance.

The doors slid open to reveal the Enterprise's captain and first officer standing a careful five feet from each other, backs stiff and straight, as if they'd been pricked with a cattle prod.

“Well, this is anti-climactic,” Uhura sighed.

Leonard wasn’t so sure. Jim’s hair looked a little disheveled, and there was a glaring wrinkle on Spock’s uniform shirt.

The crowd eased back on-mass as they stood blinking curiously at their commanding officers, waiting for direction.

Jim stormed out as his eyes caught Leonard hiding behind the crowd. “I'm gonna kill you,” he muttered under his breath as he passed, a distinct lack of venom in his voice.

“Don’t you mean thank me?” Bones called to Jim's retreating back. Jim caught Spock's eyes, a softness easing along his lips, before he rushed off down the hall.

“Well?” Leonard cornered Spock as the crew parted around him and then fought each other for space in the turbolift.

“Please clarify the specifics of your request.”

“For God's sake, Spock, don't leave me hanging!”

“I have not left you suspended in any form, nor have you been since the time this inane conversation began.”

Nyota rested a hand on Leonard's tensing shoulder. His anger released in a whooshing breath. “I think what both Len and I want to know is did you and Jim get down and dirty?”

Spock straightened his shirt. “Negative. We did not become soiled in the turbolift. I would assume that would be clear as my appearance has not changed since my confinement. I would expect such ludicrous questions from Doctor McCoy, but not you, Lieutenant.”

Nyota snorted underneath her hand as Leonard's curiosity exploded off the edge of this final cliff hanger. He’d finally reached the end of Spock’s cursed love story, but instead of a resolution, he’d found a blank white page.

“Did you have sex with Jim in the turbolift?” Leonard demanded.

Spock blinked. In their moment of silence, Leonard considered punching the logic right off of Spock's face.

“Frankly, Doctor, that is none of your business.”

“You insufferable, ungrateful—”

“However,” Spock interrupted. “I will convey my gratitude to you.”

Leonard gaped.

“For enabling the captain and I to express our mutual feelings for one another both vocally,” Spock paused, his cheek muscles twitching, “and physically.” He stepped away without another work and strode down the hall as straight laced as ever.

“Yes!” Leonard cheered, and then cleared his throat, lowering his arms as the officers who had failed to cram into the delayed turbolift glared at him. “It's about god damn time!” he yelled at Spock’s retreating back.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed and would like to share, here's a Tumblr reblog link for this fic (with more awesome art by portbow): <http://noodleinabarrel.tumblr.com/post/162345075439/thylabang-title-the-wingman-author>
> 
> If you'd like to keep in touch, I can be found on [Tumblr](http://noodleinabarrel.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/noodleinabarrel).


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